Dragonfires Burning
by WritingOutTheStorm
Summary: The Emperor slain, a loner guarding a dark secret must find the lost heir and save the Empire from chaos. Caught in a murky web of murder, deception, and intrigue extending to the Daedric realm of Oblivion itself, Torin Grayrider will have to face his tortured past and his feelings for the beautiful adventurer that joins him. But neither of them can imagine what lies ahead…
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note: This is a romance woven into the fabric of the Oblivion story and beyond. The actual story had no romance element, so I decided to address that to satisfy my own imagination, adding characters and altering some incidents to continue the narrative after events of the original story were over. Bear in mind this was written before Skyrim came out, so consider this just a tale on its own. I stayed true to much of the lore, but digressed in other places, so be prepared for some freeform storytelling. If you are enjoying the story, I would appreciate feedback. Thanks to Bethesda for creating a great world to roam around and writing a fun story!

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**Dragonfires Burning  
**

_**Prologue**_

_**Before the rise of humans, at the beginning of the first era, the land known as Cyrodiil was ruled by a race of elves called the Ayleids. While they worshipped the Aedra as well, the cruel and domineering Ayleids called upon the dark Daedric Lords of Oblivion to be their instruments of power in establishing their supremacy over the other races. **_

_**For long years the merciless Ayleids held sway over the land, until at last, the human slaves revolted, led by the Slave Queen Alessia. With the help of the Nords of Skyrim, Alessia succeeded in driving the elves from her country into refuge in Valenwood. She established the human kingdom of Cyrodiil, organizing a new pantheon of gods, the Eight Divines. And so it was that Alessia was presented a gift from Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time and ruler of the Aedra, to help preserve peace in Cyrodiil: the Amulet of Kings. Akatosh bound her soul into the red diamond at the center of the pendant, and used the ward to seal off Tamriel from the planes of Oblivion, where the sixteen powerful Daedric princes resided, so that their malicious interference with the mortal realm might evermore be lessened.**_

_**The traditional lighting of the Dragonfires was a covenant Queen Alessia made with the Divine Akatosh - a sign of eternal loyalty twixt Gods and men. The sacred flames, extinguished upon the death of a ruler, are re-lit when the new monarch of Cyrodiil is crowned. Inextricably tied to this ritual is the passing of the Amulet of Kings to each successor of the royal bloodline. So has it been for thousands of years. So must it always be. Always must the Dragonfires burn, or chaos will reign in the kingdoms of the living and Daedra will have dominion over the land. Always must the Dragonfires burn…to keep the Gates of Oblivion closed…to keep the daemons at bay.**_

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27th of Last Seed, Year of Akatosh 433, End of the Third Era -

1.

"The Wrong Place at the Right Time"

He wasn't cooling his heels in an Imperial prison because he was a criminal. He was there for a short and embarrassing stay because he had been foolish and reckless. That was a source of great irritation to him. He hadn't meant to hit the Captain of the Imperial Watch, one Henrik Bardur, but it was certainly the city guard's jaw his fist connected with two nights ago. He cursed himself yet again for overindulging and allowing himself to be drawn into a common bar brawl. But when the Argonian insulted his mother so disgracefully…well, a man has limits…even someone as patient and level-headed as Torin Grayrider. And there was little that could upset him more than disparaging remarks about his mother. She was a saintly woman who had struggled to provide him with the basic necessities of life when his father died. She had taken any job she could get to support him, and had always borne her burden cheerfully, sacrificing all for him. When she had finally succumbed to the hardships of their existence, he was sixteen, left to his own devices in the sometimes cruel streets of Imperial City. Determined to improve his lot he had joined the Fighter's Guild, to learn to make his way in the world. He wanted to get out of the city…to see Tamriel's wonders. But to do that, he would have to be able to defend himself. In fact, he wanted to be better than just adequate…he wanted to excel with sword and shield…to master his fate, not just survive. He was clever and resourceful. But he knew that would only get him so far. Torin needed a skill set fit for battle.

So he apprenticed under a wily old Khajit, who took the young man under his wing. Torin learned much and practiced more. And he built up his strength. Before long he was wearing a heavy coat of armor and wielding a sword of no small weight with ease.

After a time, when he felt his combat skills were sufficient, he joined the Mages Guild to develop his magic. His father had commanded the arts to a small extent, but like everything else the well-meaning man had tried, it never amounted to much. Torin, on the other hand, had begun to show signs as an adolescent that he would be able to control the flow of his natural mana much more effectively. His innate abilities far exceeded his father's. He became a reasonably proficient healer and learned to master destructive spells. Fire, ice, and electricity were his friends. He could command them to pour forth from his fingertips...direct them where he willed with devastating results.

By the time he set out on his own at nineteen, he had learned many spells to facilitate his travels and he was a capable young adventurer. Now, nine years later, he was a highly skilled veteran of warfare and a talented mage, just as adept with magic as he was with a sword. He was an experienced traveler, having seen much of Tamriel, and a man of no small wealth. He had accomplished much and, for the most part, had always tried to follow the honorable path. His face darkened. Except…the Razor. His great sin. For the thousandth time since he had procured it, he wished he'd never heard of the damned weapon!

He sighed and put it out of his mind, thinking of the stupidity of his current predicament instead. He put his head in his hands, resigned to serving his time and learning a lesson at the expense of his time and dignity. Next time, he would not lean so heavily on drink. Perhaps he would return to unwinding as he always had…in the company of women. They came so easily to him. He was strikingly handsome – rugged, with a square powerful jaw that always defied his shaving blade. The erratic lifestyle of an adventurer did not lend itself to routine grooming, nor did he care for such things. And so, his appearance matched his devil-may-care approach to life. He kept his unruly shoulder-length black mane pulled back haphazardly when he travelled, with only the occasional meandering strand over his brow to harass him. Piercing blue eyes looked out from beneath his thick locks, caving the defenses of even the most stubborn of females determined not to fall for his charms. But always they fell…into his arms, into his bed. He oozed sensuality and the women flocked to him. Perhaps that was the problem. He had become bored with it all…with the game. It had become **too** easy, and the women too unexceptional. He wanted something more.

So, this night he had forgone his customary pleasures in favor of hard drink…and, as it turned out, hard fighting. He usually had a way with others…a quiet, easy manner. But this drunken Argonian was having none of his besotted Imperial charm, and Torin had foolishly allowed the disagreement to erupt into a full-fledged brawl. He had meant to hit the Argonian, but the reptilian had ducked, and Torin's fist had been unceremoniously introduced to Bardur's face as he tried to break up the fight. Not one of his finer moments, he thought, rolling his eyes. They had hauled him off to jail for a few days for public drunk and disorderly behavior…and, of course, for assaulting the good Captain. Bardur had been good-natured about it, recognizing the punch had been intended for the other participant. He had clapped a suddenly sobered and apologetic Torin on the back, and told him it would be all over in a few days and everyone would forget all about it.

The sentence was no less than he deserved for his foolishness, but it chafed him nonetheless, for he was not given to such boorish behavior. At 28, he should know better. He could no longer use the hot-headedness of youth as an excuse. Damn it! He swore again.

The sound of a key in the lock of his cell door interrupted his self-loathing. His eyes grew wide when he saw who walked through the doorway. The Emperor?!

The guards were equally surprised to see him occupying the cell. They bickered with one another over whose fault it was the cell was not empty.

The Emperor looked as astonished as he felt when the monarch took notice of him. "YOU! You are the one in my dreams! Then the stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength. I must speak to you…" Before he could continue, one of the men whisked him through a secret passageway in the cell, leaving a stunned Torin rooted to the ground, staring at the opening.

The last man into the cell was the Watch Captain he had struck, Henrik Bardur. Henrik recognized him and stepped up, "Earn your freedom, man! Help us protect the Emperor! These men are Blades, the Emperor's personal bodyguards…" he explained, thrusting a sword into Torin's hand and dragging him through the passageway.

"What…what is happening?" Torin asked, looking dumbfounded.

"There has been an assassination attempt on the Emperor! All three of his sons have been slain in a carefully orchestrated plot! We are trying to get him out of the city!" the Captain shouted in distress.

"What?! Who…who is behind this?!" Torin asked in shock.

"Some group calling themselves the Mythic Dawn has claimed responsibility. Come on, man, no time to waste!" Henrik shouted.

They raced through corridors and tunnels, stopping only to fight their way through an endless stream of the red-robed assassins of the Mythic Dawn that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. With the numbers of the defenders dwindling, they stopped to open another passage. The Emperor pulled Torin aside. "My time grows short. No trophies of my triumphs precede me. And while I have made a great mistake I wish I could have put right, I have otherwise lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood…it is their nature to err and their fate to die. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this, I am blessed…to have seen the hour of my death. And I know it is upon me…this I have witnessed in my dreams. But I have also seen **you**. And in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied. You will play the key part in what is to come. It is **you** who must save the Empire!" he cried.

Torin recoiled in stunned disbelief. "No…you must have me confused with…" he started.

Uriel Septim VII, Emperor of Cyrodiil, drew himself up and cut the young adventurer off. "It is so…I have seen it…and **you**. A man with eyes bluer than the waters of Lake Canulus, lines of war drawn on his chin…"

Torin subconsciously fingered the scar on his jaw given to him by a massive bear when he was young. The bear had bested him then and he had retreated. It had been a long time since he had retreated from anything.

Septim continued, "A man seeking freedom, seeking forgiveness…" The Emperor stopped suddenly, unwilling to tell the astonished young man in front of him **everything** he knew about his future. He did not mention the woman. The details were unclear and he thought that the lad should find this out for himself. Men should not know too much of their own destinies, Uriel had decided. It weighs heavily on the mind…he knew from experience. "But there is no time to argue! My sons have been murdered! They think to end the line! But…they have not won yet! I believe there is another…from a time I spent with a woman I cared for. Her name was Lenore Trueblood. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen and I fell hopelessly in love with her. But I was married to the Empress, a cold-hearted and manipulative woman. It had been my duty to wed her…to continue the royal line. It was an arranged marriage, a loveless union…but still, I was Emperor, a wedded man with three sons. I was not free to be with Lenore as she deserved. She was good and kind and she cared for me. But when I found out she was with child, I treated her disgracefully. I thought it might embarrass me. A mistress was one thing, but the bastard child of an Emperor?" Septim sighed heavily, his guilt weighing on him. "I blamed her as though she had done it on purpose…as though I had no part in it. I have spent my life regretting it. I do not know what became of her or our child. Lenore disappeared in tears and I never saw her again. I know only that she was from Cheydinhal. Whether she returned there or not, I do not know. I have thought of her many times over the years. I let her go, to my endless shame…and **because** of my shame, never again did I seek her out. In a moment of cruel arrogance I have never forgiven myself for, I spurned her love and sent her away with my unborn child. Now, it seems, that child is the only hope for the Empire, for without an heir, the Dragonfires will be extinguished. Without an heir, the Empire will fall. The ancient covenant will be broken and the Gates to Oblivion unsealed. Anarchy will rule the land! You must find and give my child the Amulet of Kings. The Dragonfires **must** burn! It is the only way! Jauffre will help you find Lenore. Jauffre will help you find my successor!" he said in agitation, grasping Torin by the shoulders.

He was interrupted by the sounds of men approaching. "Quickly," he said casting his eyes about nervously, "My time is here. Take this to Jauffre at the Weynon Priory in Chorrol. He will know what to do. It is the Amulet of Kings. It must be given to the heir to the throne…You cannot fail! The future of the Empire depends on you! I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings! Find my heir, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion!" Uriel cried frantically, thrusting the sacred talisman into Torin's hands.

The urgency in his voice was not lost on Torin, though it was a great deal to digest. But the madness that was taking place around him lent credibility to the Emperor's ramblings, incredible as they were.

"I…will do what I can…" Torin started uncertainly.

Suddenly, an assassin leaped out of the opening passageway and stabbed the Emperor. Torin killed him immediately, but it was too late. Uriel Septim VII lay dying in Torin's arms as he had said he would.

"Promise me…" he struggled. He grabbed Torin's tunic, pulling him close. "The fate of the Empire is in your hands…it is…your…destiny…" he whispered as the air escaped his lungs. The Emperor was gone.

Torin was pulled to his feet roughly by Baurus, the sole remaining Blade. "You must go now before more of them arrive," he urged.

"But..." Torin stuttered, craving answers to his thousand questions. He understood none of this. It seemed one riddle wrapped in another clouded by a third.

"Not now!" Baurus insisted, "If the Amulet of Kings has been entrusted to you, your mission must be very important indeed. He saw something in you. Trusted you. I do not pretend to understand it. But they say it's the Dragon Blood that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see **more** than lesser men. Jauffre is the leader of the Order of Talos and Grandmaster of the Blades. He resides at Weynon Priory. He will explain whatever you need to know. The Emperor is dead, but if his assassins find out you hold the sacred Amulet, your life will not be worth a septim. Go quickly! Henrik and I will cover your escape."

Henrik spoke up then, "He's right, son, you must be off!" the older man encouraged.

Torin took off rapidly through the winding passage, equal parts bewildered and concerned. He was not afraid. He was not a man given to fear. He had taken on many a daunting task lesser men had cowered before. No, he knew not fear now, but apprehension. Grave events were unfolding before him, drawing him in, a participant by necessity in a terrible crisis. He would honor the Emperor's wish, not only out of loyalty, but out of a genuine desire to uncover the truth behind this conspiracy….and to learn the role he would play in stopping it.

* * *

"So **you** are the Grandmaster of the Blades? Baurus did not mention…" Torin began, unable to hide his skepticism when he was led into the presence of the master Blade. He did not look like much, this mild-mannered prior in monks' robes. But Jauffre was the Grandmaster of the Blades, an order of knights sworn to protect the Emperor. He seemed much more the unimposing head of Weynon Priory than an expert swordsman who had devoted his life to guarding the head of an Empire. It was, Torin had to admit, the perfect disguise for him…the perfect headquarters for their organization.

Jauffre knew his unassuming appearance fooled many. "Baurus? So Baurus told you about me, eh? Yes, he did not lie…though what could possess him to divulge my nature to you I cannot guess, for discretion is our watchword," Jauffre responded, his mind racing at the possibilities. Baurus was among the bravest and most faithful of his Blades, which is why he was assigned to guard the Emperor. He would never betray the Order. If Baurus had entrusted this man with the information, perhaps… The Grandmaster continued cautiously…casually. "But you wonder to find the Blade Grandmaster **here**? Only a few of us, like Baurus, have the honor to serve publicly in the Imperial Guard. It isn't widely known, but many members of the Order of Talos are also Blades. Indeed, many who are too old for active service often join the Order as lay brothers. Talos is our patron, and we serve the Emperor and the Septim bloodline."

Torin nodded slightly. "I bow to the master of deception," he said, giving Jauffre and his Priory brothers their due in maintaining their cover.

Jauffre studied the adventurer for a moment, gauging the man for signs of his **own** deception. "But it must be an important reason, indeed, for you to stand before me now…and without Baurus," Jauffre said, a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Tell me then, why are you here? And how is it that the loyal and steadfast Baurus has revealed me to you, and sent you here?" he inquired through narrowed eyes.

"I have need of your help. But…there is much to tell you…" Torin replied, sighing heavily.

Jauffre did not believe him at first, that he had been sent by the Emperor. It wasn't until he produced the Amulet that Jauffre accepted he had indeed come from Uriel Septim. But with belief came doubt…only the Emperor was permitted to handle the sacred artifact and the old Blade became alarmed that Torin had perhaps obtained it by being involved somehow with the murder.

Torin explained how he had come by the Amulet and that the Emperor had sought his help, sending him to Jauffre for assistance in finding the heir.

The warrior monk sat back to consider what he had been told, finally coming to terms with the grave news and the young man who stood before him. It would explain Baurus' exposure of the Grandmaster to this stranger, and the fact of the Amulet he held now in his hands. He nodded sadly.

It was Torin's turn to ask questions. He needed to make sense of all this. "But what does it all mean? Prince of Destruction? Close shut the jaws of Oblivion? How does the Amulet fit into all of this?" he entreated.

"I…am not certain," Jauffre said thoughtfully. "The divine Daedra and Aedra walked the surface of the mortal plane at one time, and they would often interfere directly with mortal affairs, especially the Daedra. They created the Daedric Realms in Oblivion, with all its inhabitants. But while the Daedric Princes were pleased with what they had done, it is said they looked with envy over the Mortal Realm. They found that the ambitions and the passions of mortals were sometimes entertaining beyond their expectation…the actions and thoughts of mortals different than the minions they created. Thus, have the Daedra ever courted and seduced the Mortal Races, especially the passionate and powerful. The Daedra were also known to enjoy stealing or corrupting anything that the Aedra had created, for the Daedra are not of creation, but of change and destruction. It was the Aedra who created the mortal plane...and the Daedra who wreaked the most havoc in it. The Prince of Destruction, Mehrunes Dagon, is  
one of the lords of Oblivion. His sphere is Destruction, Change, Revolution, Energy, and Ambition. He seeks chaos in the world of men, frequently venting his anger in the form of natural disasters. Men fear the Daedra with good reason. But the mortal world has long been protected from the beasts and gods of Oblivion by magical barriers. It is a part of the covenant between St. Alessia and Akatosh, the dragon God of Time and ruler of the noble Aedra, thousands of years ago," he said pulling out a book called **The Trials of St. Alessia.**

Torin knew the legend of the phenomenal woman Alessia, a slave of the cruel and capricious Ayleids, the Heartland High Elves that ruled over Tamriel thousands of years ago in the First Era. She had rallied her people, enlisted the aid of the Nords of Skyrim, and drew the Gods to her side to lead a slave revolt, overthrowing her tyrannical masters and beginning the Empire of Cyrodiil.

The Ayleids of long ago relied on their patrons, the treacherous Daedric Princes, to provide armies of Daedric minions. With these fearless magical hordes, the Ayleids preyed without mercy upon the young races of men, slaughtering or enslaving them at their whim. Alessia began to pray to those Divines sympathetic to the race of men for assistance in freeing her people…to Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, and Kynareth, goddess of Nature. Akatosh, looking with pity upon the plight of men, drew precious blood from his own heart, and blessed St. Alessia with this blood of Dragons. Kynareth, in turn, sent her son, the Nordic demi-god hero Morihaus, to advise and aid Alessia. Morihaus became Alessia's lover, and with the aid of Pelinal Whitestrake, a fabled warrior who became the leader of her army, helped her rally the other slaves to her cause. From that time, she was known as the Slave Queen.

Whitestrake became legendary for his ruthless decimation of the Ayleid army. Alessia herself often had to intercede with the Divines on his behalf after "the Madness" took him and he committed particularly brutal acts. When the Nordic king joined Alessia's revolt, the human armies quickly began to drive the Ayleid out of Cyrod and into Valenwood. Even Pelinal's death at the hands of followers of the dread Elf-King Umaril The Unfeathered could not stem the tide of the rebellion.

When, at last, it was all over, Alessia was declared the first Empress of Cyrodiil for her courage, strength, and wisdom in saving Tamriel. The worship of the Eight Divines became the standard for Tamriel. Akatosh came to her, and they made their fateful pact. Binding Alessia's soul to the Amulet of Kings, Akatosh took her up into the Divine realms, naming her St. Alessia, the first saint of the humans, the patron saint of kindness and freedom. The blood red diamond at the center of the Amulet of Kings is where her soul was said to be housed. And thus did the symbol of Imperial Cyrodiil become the red diamond. The eight stones surrounding it represented the Eight Divines. The Ninth Divine was, of course, Talos, Alessia's descendant, Tiber Septim, who was raised to a Divine after his great deeds defending Tamriel.

Finding a passage, Jauffre read to Torin of the Amulet:

**_Akatosh made a covenant with Alessia in those days so long ago. He gathered the tangled skeins of Oblivion, and knit them fast with the bloody sinews of his Heart, and gave them to Alessia saying, 'This shall be my token to you, that so long as your blood and oath hold true, yet so shall my blood and oath be true to you. This token shall be the Amulet of Kings, and the Covenant shall be made between us, for I am the King of Spirits, and you are the Queen of Mortals. As you shall stand witness for all Mortal Flesh, so shall I stand witness for all Immortal Spirits.'_**

**_And Akatosh drew from his breast a burning handful of his Heart's blood, and he gave it into Alessia's hand, saying, 'This shall also be a token to you of our joined blood and pledged faith. So long as you and your descendants shall wear the Amulet of Kings, then shall this dragonfire burn - an eternal flame - as a sign to all men and gods of our faithfulness. So long as the dragonfires shall burn, to you, and to all generations, I swear that my Heart's blood shall hold fast the Gates of Oblivion._**

**_So long as the Blood of the Dragon runs strong in her rulers, the glory of the Empire shall extend in unbroken years. But should the dragonfires fail, and should no heir of our joined blood wear the Amulet of Kings, then shall the Empire descend into darkness, and the Demon Lords of Misrule shall govern the land.'_**

Jauffre closed the book, a worried look on his face. "Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet of Kings is ancient. It is a holy relic of great power. When an Emperor is crowned, he uses it to light the Dragonfires at the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. With the Emperor dead and no new heir crowned, the Dragonfires in the Temple will be dark for the first time in centuries. This does not bode well."

"What about the heir?" Torin asked.

"I am one of the few who know of the existence of one. Many years ago, I served as Captain of the Emperor's Blades. One night, he called me into his private chambers. He told me of his affair with Lenore Trueblood and that she had been with child when she left. He was filled with guilt, but swore me to secrecy. He wanted only to unburden his soul to someone of his abandonment of his child and the woman he had loved. My liege forbade me to harass her in any way, or even to track her down. He wanted her to find peace. But he wanted me to know. I do not know if he was looking for absolution. I know only that he needed to purge himself of his great secret," Jauffre revealed.

"The Emperor told me to find this child, and I will honor his wish," Torin said, choosing to withhold the Emperor's prophecies about himself until he had a clearer idea what was happening. He was not yet convinced he was this "savior" Uriel Septim raved about in his waning moments on this mortal plane. It still seemed too fantastical for him to accept. "He said to begin my search in Cheydinhal. You will look after the Amulet until I can return?" Torin asked.

"It will be safest here. Good luck to you then, young man. The Emperor has chosen you for this task. I can only hope his faith in you is rewarded," Jauffre said.

Torin nodded. "I will do what I can," he replied resolutely.

Jauffre returned the nod. "Gods' speed, young Grayrider," he said as he watched Torin leave.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

"Alessia"

Torin questioned a number of townspeople in Cheydinhal before he came across an old man who remembered her. He said Lenore Trueblood had died many years ago after giving birth but he had never heard what happened to the baby. He didn't think she had any relatives. It was said she had left a male child with the Sisters of the Nine Divines before she passed. So, Torin found himself in the office of the Mother of the orphanage seeking information on the boy and his whereabouts. Though he would be a man now, Torin corrected himself. He had been warned by the Blades Grandmaster to reveal the truth to no one, lest those he had told, and the heir himself, be placed in mortal danger from the revelation. So he had concocted a story that he had been hired to find the young man by the estate of his long-lost father, who had recently perished and left instructions to leave his sizable fortune to his illegitimate son. Torin hated lying to a member of the faith, but he knew it was for the greater good. He had deduced from the timing of the birth, and an eyewitness to Lenore's presence at the orphanage, that the child's name was Martin and the man he sought was now a Brother of the Nines.

* * *

Alessia Ravenwild was teaching the children the arts of defense on the playing ground that day as she frequently did when she was passing through Cheydinhal. The Sisters hated it, clucking their tongues at her. Violence is not the way, they chided. But each loved her as their own daughter and she always had an answer to placate them.

"Yes, but there **is** evil in the world and do you not prefer that the children learn to survive it as I have? Would you not be heartbroken if something happened to **me** because I could not protect myself? Would you not miss me terribly?" the ravishing twenty-six-year-old asked, offering them the most doe-eyed look she could muster. They pursed their lips trying to hide their amusement. She had always been a handful. And they **would** miss her terribly if something happened to her.

"Very well," they acquiesced reluctantly, as they always did. "But be careful…"

Alessia smiled winningly at them. "Thank you good Sisters, you are a constant source of inspiration to me," she said, lavishing them with mischievous praise that they were too wise to believe.

They pursed their lips again and shook their heads to themselves as they walked away.

"That girl should be married by now! It is not seemly to wander the land like she does, getting into all sorts of mayhem…" the older Sister clucked.

"Yes, indeed, a beautiful young woman, but troublesome. Always into something, even as a child. Of course, she means no harm, but a great deal of trouble nonetheless…" another clucked in return.

"Yes, it is so. She needs a strong hand to settle her down, I think…" the third chimed in.

And the three Sister hens continued their clucking as they scurried off to their duties, trying to decide Alessia's life for her.

Alessia laughed ruefully, putting her practice helm back on to protect her from the boys' errant sword swings, securing the faceplate. The Sisters meant well and she knew they cared about her, but she would not bend to the expectations of others simply to conform. And the life they described was not for her.

She was no demure, shrinking lass. She was bold and proud and aggressive, courageous and determined. Unlike many women of Tamriel, she did not sit back and wait for men to do things for her, to give things to her. She pursued what she wanted, and she usually got it.

A foundling on the doorstep of the orphanage long ago, she had overcome much to become the independent woman she was today. She depended on no one and no one was responsible for her. And she wanted it that way.

She had never known her mother and father, but the Sisters of the Nine Divines had been good to her, and she had grown up strong, healthy, and able to fend for herself. She had arrived at their door, a smallish three-week-old infant, with a note pinned to her blanket that said only "Alessia". The Sisters found it strange that a mother who would abandon her child would so solicitously ensure she kept the name that had been given her at birth. But they acknowledged that there were many reasons a mother might give up a child…not all of them selfish. They supposed she was named after Saint Alessia herself. It was an honorable name…a proud name, and they kept it. But the child herself was not healthy. She was weak and undersized, and they feared she would not make it to adulthood. But, like her namesake, this Alessia was a fighter. After a few early scares and much attention from the Sisters, who had become determined to save this underdog baby…to help the wee waif survive against the odds, the child grew stronger. Thus it was that for many of the older Sisters, Alessia held a special place in their hearts. And, her wildness aside, she had captured the younger Sisters with her endearing personality. It was the Order that had given her the name Ravenwild, for the silky jet-black hair that fell about the girl's face and her spirited ways. Her tresses were thick and luxurious, a striking characteristic from early on, that later came to accentuate her beautiful features.

It had not bothered Alessia that she had not been adopted. She was a spitfire, as Martin loved to tease her, from the day she was born, stubborn and defiant. Though a mischievous handful, she was beloved by the Sisters, for she was a bright child, good and kind, and always trying to help the younger children adjust to being in an orphanage. Even now, she returned to the home between her travels to help and counsel the poor unfortunates. Truly, it had amazed the Sisters that she had never been adopted, for she would have made a wonderful daughter, given the right guidance and a firmer hand. But as it was, she had grown up in a home for children, fiercely independent and craving the adventure of the world outside the cloistered walls.

But as a girl alone, young Alessia knew the first step towards true independence was to learn to protect herself. She honed her body to respond to her every whim with lightning speed and made off with two knives from the Sisters' kitchen so she could practice with them…so she could master the feel and balance of wielding them. She hired on as an adolescent at a local armory shop to earn the right to practice with bow and arrow, much to the chagrin of the Sisters of the Nine. And she became highly proficient, able to split an apple with an arrow running at full speed. The owner and regular patrons became so amused by her earnest efforts that they began to offer advice, which became training, which became assistance. By the time she reached maturity, they were all just a little bit in love with the appealing 21-year-old raven-haired beauty. And when she decided to join the Fighter's Guild, they had all chipped in to present her a gift of a fine elven bow. She had earned enough on her own to buy two silver daggers. And, after a few successful jobs, she had bought some light armor that afforded her some protection without slowing her down.

She had been determined to be worthy of the name she bore…the warrior queen, Alessia. Now, she was an expert handler of her daggers, the blades swirling and flashing with grace and elegance at such speeds they were barely visible. Her reflexes were sharp and her aim with a bow unsurpassed. She was formidable, not just for a woman, but for a warrior.

And she had resolved that in her spare time she would help the older children who were growing up without parents to learn to take care of themselves. They would be released into the world soon enough.

"OWWW!" young Vander shouted. He had nicked himself with the edge of the blunted training weapon she had given him. She cursed herself silently for letting the Sisters get to her with their talk of marriage. She had let her attention wander from her students and now one of them was hurt, though that was nearly impossible with the dullness of the old practice swords she had loaned them. But then, it **was** Vander. She took his hand in hers to examine it. It was bleeding, but not a bad cut. She tore off a piece of her legging and wrapped it. "It will be alright, Vander. Hold this tightly and I'll be right back," she promised. He looked at her dreamily. She knew the older boys all had crushes on her. She smiled inside her helm and ran off to the offices of Mother Worthing.

Torin was just about to inquire where Martin could be found when he was startled to hear the clash of swords in the courtyard, and a child's scream. No, by the Gods! Not **here**! he thought. The bastards! His sword flew from its sheath and he started towards the door when it burst open and Alessia ran in.

She was alarmed to see a man with a drawn sword in the Mother's office and with lightning speed had unsheathed her daggers to engage him.

Torin took her for an assassin and dropped into a defensive stance in front of the Mother.

Alessia advanced on him. No one would harm the Mother while she could prevent it.

Mother Worthing, who had been watching in stunned horror as this terrible misunderstanding unfolded, finally found her voice, "NOOO! Stop! Both of you!"

They turned to her slightly in confusion, neither completely willing to take their eye off the enemy before them.

"Please, good Ser, this is Alessia Ravenwild, a former resident, who is here training the students to look after themselves. Do not harm her, I beg you! Alessia, I'm sure this young man means you no harm…we heard the swords and the shouting…please, both of you, put your weapons away," she entreated.

Torin reddened, sheathing his sword. He had almost made a terrible mistake. He was jumpier than he thought. He needed more sleep.

Alessia followed suit, sheathing her daggers and removing her helmet. Her long flowing tresses tumbled down about her shoulders. She flung her head to the side to clear the stray locks that blocked her vision so she could get a better look at this man that she had nearly tried to kill.

Their eyes locked for a moment.

He was terribly handsome, Alessia thought…a strong jaw and eyes so blue she could have floated away in them. She felt the stirrings of desire.

Torin was equally struck. She took his breath away. She was without doubt the most exquisitely beautiful woman he had ever seen. After a few awkward moments of staring, Torin found his tongue and stumbled over his words, "I…I'm…sorry. I thought you were…I…we heard the boy cry out…" He fumbled to recover himself, but found he had difficulty concentrating.

She smiled slightly, used to the reaction she always got when men first laid eyes on her. He was not the first man to have difficulty with his speech. Alessia knew she was striking. She simply chose to dismiss it as an accident of birth…an inconvenience that was, at times, admittedly convenient. But she was not a manipulator of men. She preferred to earn her way on merit. She was not averse, however, to occasionally accepting the natural advantage that her beauty bestowed upon her when there was no other way to accomplish her goal.

"No, it is my fault for barging in here frantically in full armor, but I wanted to let the Mother know that Vander has cut himself…I am no healer…" Alessia started.

"Again?! Honestly, that boy is so clumsy!" Mother Worthing mumbled, gathering her salves and potions.

"It is not bad, but it will need attending. This is my fault. I should have been watching more closely," she said, taking responsibility for the accident. But Vander **was** clumsy, may the Nine bless him. She hoped it was something he would outgrow.

"Very well, I will go fix him up again. Please excuse me, Ser Grayrider. I will return shortly," the Mother said scurrying off, leaving Alessia and Torin alone.

Torin had not been able to take his eyes off of her. She was captivating…mesmerizing, with brilliant green eyes that struck him to the core. He wanted to say something…anything to keep her there a little longer. But his normally smooth tongue was knotted in his mouth. He felt like a fool…like a young boy again, confronted with his first pretty girl. Only this was far worse.

Alessia found herself amused…intrigued by this attractive stranger who was having such difficulty communicating. Surely a man such as he would have no trouble speaking to women. Although, she thought to herself rakishly, perhaps he did not do much speaking. She was certain he'd had no problem finding women to warm his bed. She banished the scintillating thoughts from her head. Alessia was a sensual woman, and took her pleasures where she chose…and there was certainly no shortage of willing men. But she was always careful not to get emotionally entangled with them. That was one thing that her time in the orphanage had taught her. Love was an unreliable commodity, usually fleeting, and sometimes cruel. She had been given up by parents who cared not for her, if they had ever even cared for each other. She would not fall victim to its false charms, she would not heed its alluring call. She would closely guard her own emotions and protect herself against the inevitable hurt. Passionate life-long love was not real. It was merely an illusion, and Alessia was pragmatic…a realist…a survivor.

Still, in spite of her promises to herself to keep her distance, she found she wanted to know more. "Are you…here to adopt a child?" she asked casually. As soon as the words had escaped her lips she found herself hoping he had no wife. It surprised her greatly and she flushed in embarrassment and turned away.

"No, I am in no position to…I am not even wed…I…" Torin started.

Mother Worthing returned at that moment. "Please forgive the interruption, Ser Grayrider. But I'm sure you'll both be pleased to hear Vander will be fine. But it is good you are still here, Alessia. Such wonderful news! This man is trying to find Martin. Perhaps you have heard from him? I know you two still keep in touch," the Sister of the Nines said.

She turned to Torin, "The two of them were thick as thieves growing up, always into something. Mischievous little firebrands, the both of them, but Alessia here was the ringleader, don't think I didn't know **that**, my girl! Shy boy, Martin…followed her around like a puppy dog, doing whatever she said. He has settled down now, mercifully. He is a Brother of the Nines. Travels constantly, spreading the good Word. You, young lady, are another matter," said Mother Worthing affectionately, with not-so-stern disapproval.

Alessia blushed.

"I so wish you'd settle down and stop gallivanting across the countryside like a common adventurer," she chided maternally. Then she looked embarrassed, and turned to Torin. "Oh! I hope I haven't offended you, Ser," she apologized, realizing the man she stood next to was just that.

"No offense taken, Mother. Please continue," he urged, an amused tone in his voice. He was, in truth, enjoying this little interchange…and the uncomfortable look on Alessia's perfect face as she was being chastised. He was also grateful for the chance to find out more about the woman who had captured his attention so.

Alessia shot him a withering look of irritation, "thanking" him for his encouragement of the good Mother's lecture.

Torin shrugged innocently, trying not to laugh.

The Mother went on, "You should get married, a beautiful girl like you…don't you think she's beautiful, Ser Grayrider?"

Torin was stunned to be put on the spot. It was his turn to squirm. But just as suddenly as his shy awkwardness had come upon him, it disappeared, and the seductive charm that he had possessed his entire adult life returned to him. "Yes, Mother, she is," he said politely to the older woman. Then he turned to Alessia's pouting face and continued to her, his eyes smoldering sensually, "She is very beautiful, indeed."

The Mother went on.

For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room. Alessia felt heat rising in her face under his torrid gaze and shook herself back into the conversation, breaking contact with his deep blue pools.

"You would have them standing in line if you'd only say the word, if you'd only make yourself open to it…" the Mother said, oblivious to the drama that had been going on in front of her…to the chemistry already simmering between them.

Alessia rolled her eyes. "Mother…"

"You'd make some man a wonderful wife if you'd stop all this nonsense. Or, if you'd prefer, we'd always welcome you as a Sister of the Nines…"

Alessia cut her off then, unwilling to have her potential future bandied about in front of this stranger any further. "Mother, please…I'm sure this man has better things to do than listen to what you think I should do with my life," she pleaded.

"Oh yes, of course," Mother Worthing said absent-mindedly, "I do go on sometimes, don't I?" properly chastising herself.

Torin just smiled and nodded politely to her, his mind racing. So this woman is not married…and from the sound of it, does not wish to be. She was strong-willed and self-reliant, that much he had quickly ascertained. And he found he was admiring her spirit as well as her voluptuous form. Torin let his eyes linger on her a moment longer than he should have. A dazzling smile spread across his handsome face.

Alessia could not help but smile sheepishly in return.

If he were not in the middle of this critical mission for the Empire, he would surely pursue her. The sparks flying between them were unmistakable. Perhaps when all this was over, he would come back and see if he could not fan those sparks into a flame.

"So…why are you looking for Martin?" Alessia asked, trying to return the conversation to a meaningful and less uncomfortable topic.

Torin wasn't sure why, but he hesitated. Perhaps it was that he regretted the lie he was getting ready to tell her. But he had already told it to the Mother and his story had to be consistent, so he reluctantly put it forward again for Alessia.

Her face darkened then. He was lying. But why? She was suddenly afraid for the Mother, for Martin…that this man's intent was to cause them harm. "You lie! There is no mysterious benefactor!" she cried. Her fiery nature took control and her daggers flew from their sheaths, a blur of motion.

When a stunned Torin recovered his wits, he found one of her daggers had come to rest at his throat and one was pressed into the joint of his armor at his gut.

Mother Worthing gasped. "What…what is going on?"

Alessia glared at Torin, her face inches from his. She was not sure which she felt more keenly, anger or disappointment. "So, tell me, liar. What do you **really** want? What are you up to? Martin is my friend. Mother Worthing is like a true mother to me. I will not let you hurt either of them," she vowed.

Torin was astounded at the speed and agility she had displayed. Her reflexes were extraordinary. Few men could have gotten the jump on him like that. And she had done it with effortless, graceful ease. His admiration for her was growing, not only for her skill with daggers, but for her cleverness in determining he had lied to her. She was making quite an impression on him. "I…mean no harm…to Martin or the good Sisters," he tried to assure Alessia.

But she would have none of his assurances. Her instincts were on edge and she needed more than his promises of good intent. She was unwilling to trust him. "Why should I believe you? You have come into this holy place, presenting yourself as something that you are not…presenting your **cause** as something that it is not," she challenged.

With equally blinding speed, Torin grabbed her wrists and twisted them around artfully. Alessia yelped and dropped the dagger at his throat. Suddenly, he was behind her, and she found herself pinned against him, his arms wrapped around her, one now holding her own dagger to her breast while she still clutched it, the other gripping her chin. His lips rested seductively against her ear.

Alessia was stunned and felt the look of surprise that covered her face.

Torin smiled as he murmured in her ear softly, "You were wise to be skeptical. That is a valuable trait in a profession such as ours. The world is a treacherous place, and a healthy distrust can save your life. It is true that I have not been honest with you, but the reason you should believe me now is that you still live…that I have not snapped your incredibly beautiful neck, nor do I intend to. The fact is that Martin is in great danger and I have been sent to retrieve him, to see to it that he is safe." He could tell her no more without risking her life, as well as Martin's.

"Do not hurt her, please!" Mother Worthing begged.

"Have no fear, good Mother, it is not my intention to harm her," Torin promised.

Alessia did not know what to believe. He held her tightly against him. Without warning, she became aware of him physically and it flustered her. It was not a death grip he held her in now. It was a lover's embrace…intimate, a sensual molding of her body to his. She cursed herself for the thought occurring to her now. She did not trust this man, yet...there was something about him. She felt strangely unafraid of him. "You expect me to believe you **now**, after you have lied to us?" she asked, pressing for a better explanation.

"I did not tell you the truth because it will only put you and the Sisters in danger. The fewer people that know what I am after, the better. I am trying to help your friend, Martin. Tell me where he is," Torin said sincerely.

"I…if you speak the truth, release me," Alessia ordered defiantly.

Torin chuckled at her bravado. She was magnificent! He purred roguishly in her ear so softly only she could hear it, "Must I?"

She blushed again, ashamed of her unbidden physical reaction to him. "Release me now, or I will believe nothing you say," she insisted.

"I would feel more comfortable if you dropped your dagger before I did so," he returned amicably, highly amused.

Alessia released the dagger, and he released **her**.

She whipped around and slapped him. "Do not presume to manhandle me in such a fashion again!" she demanded.

Torin laughed heartily. She was a wildcat, truly! He wondered at that moment what it would be like to bed her and was hard pressed to keep his desire from his face.

Alessia glared at him, her heart pounding in her chest.

Torin took a deep breath and looked at her apologetically, "Forgive me. But I tell you truly now. If you value your friend's life you must tell me where to find him," he urged.

She studied him for a few moments. "No," she said finally.

His eyebrows rose. He had thought…

"I will not tell you where he is. I do not trust you. Tell me everything and I will consider," she said firmly.

Torin shook his head. "I can tell you no more. It will only endanger you. You **must** trust me in this. I know I have given you no reason to…but it is the only chance your friend has. This is more important than you know. Please…" he beseeched.

"But you make no sense. Why would anyone want to kill him? He is good and kind and gentle, a Brother of the Nines. He is my friend…the finest man I've ever known. There is no reason for me to believe that he has made enemies," Alessia insisted.

Torin looked at her hard then, trying to impart the sincerity of his words. "There are many reasons a man can have enemies. Sometimes it is not about what he has done. There are good men that are threatened simply because they are good. I do not know Martin, but if you tell me he is a good man, I believe you, and I truly hope it is so. But it does not change the fact that he is in grave danger…that there are those who would see him harmed. I am trying to prevent that. I will continue to search without your help, as long as it takes. I can only pray that I reach him in time. But if you can get me to him faster, his chances of survival will be greatly improved. I will tell you this…it is not just **his** fate that will be decided by the outcome of these events. The future of many others is at stake. I beseech you," he entreated, "help me now. Help me save Martin. Help me stop this travesty from occurring."

Alessia scowled, finding it difficult to comprehend all this…that her Martin could be at the center of some great conspiracy. But she looked into this stranger's deep blue eyes piercing her with their plea, and she knew she would relent…at least for now. She was still uncertain of his motives or even his identity. But she felt compelled to trust him to some extent…at least for the time being…if it meant possibly helping Martin. "I…will not tell you where he is…" she started.

Torin's face fell. His disappointment was evident. He had thought what he had given her was enough to convince her of his good intentions. He nodded sadly.

"…but I will take you to him," Alessia finished.

Torin's head jerked up. "No. I will not permit it, it is too dangerous. I have made of myself a target for trying to help him. If you go with me, you will join me in that fate. I cannot allow it. Tell me where he is and I will go…alone," he said firmly.

She shook her head. "No. This is the only way I will help you. I do not know that I trust you, but if Martin is in danger I wish to help. But I will not leave it to you, for if you are lying again… I will either protect him from those you say are pursuing him or I will protect him from **you**," she answered resolutely.

He studied her for a moment trying to determine if she truly could survive what was to come. She was impressive certainly, but he was up against something big, something terrible. And he knew it would only get worse. But the longer it took to find Martin…if she knew where to go… "You must understand. There is every chance I will not survive this," he said solemnly.

She returned his level gaze, considering his words. "Then, so be it. He is my dearest friend. I must help him. Do not attempt to dissuade me further, I will not change my mind. I can help you find him. He travels constantly, but I know where he was a month ago, and I know his general routes. We will find him together. It is my condition for helping you," she said with finality.

Torin nodded reluctantly, giving in to her demand. She was every bit the stubborn handful the Mother had implied she was. And she was fascinating. "Very well," he acceded.

"Then gather your supplies and meet me back here tomorrow morning and we will set out to find Martin," she said. Then she spun on her heel and headed out the door to make her own preparations.

Torin watched her perfect figure gracefully saunter from the room. His heart beat just a little faster as his eyes greedily drank her in. It was then that he remembered the Mother, who was still a bit in shock, sitting there staring at him. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he apologized sheepishly for all the commotion and started to leave.

The Mother found her voice then. "You take care of her, young man. For what it is worth, I believe your intentions are honorable. But I fear for her safety. She is headstrong, and too courageous for her own good, but she is very special," the woman told him.

He smiled. He thought maybe she was right…that this woman might **be** special. "I will do my best to keep her out of trouble and protect her from harm, Mother. I give you my word," Torin promised.

"That is all I can ask. Take care of yourself as well. Find Martin and take him to safety. I will tell no one of this," she finished.

"You have my thanks," Torin said. He left the orphanage thinking it might not be so bad to have this engaging woman travel with him for a time.

Mother Worthing watched the young adventurer leave. She was certainly concerned for their welfare. But something told her Alessia would be alright in this man's care. And something else told her that Alessia had finally met her match. The sparks that had flown between them under the guise of anger were more than that, she sensed. This man was clearly impressed with Alessia, but not intimidated by her. And that was exactly what the girl needed…a strong man to walk **beside** her…a man she could respect, that would treat her as an equal, not fawn over her and obey her every whim. The girl was strong-willed and needed an equally strong-willed man to take her in hand. Alessia was attractive, proud, and capable. There were many suitors. But they held only the most casual interest for her. None had challenged her emotionally or intellectually…before today. Mother Worthing smiled knowingly. "Finally…" she breathed in relief.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"Lies, Spies, and Alibis"

They were waiting for Alessia at the inn when she came in with her supplies that evening. Two men said they needed to speak with her on a matter of utmost importance. She was astonished to find they were Blades of the murdered Emperor on the trail of his assassins. By the time they had left, Alessia had reluctantly agreed to observe Torin's behavior and report back, at least until she was certain what was going on. When they had broached the subject with her, she was torn between duty to the Empire and uncertainty. And, in fact, a strange sense of loyalty. She had tentatively agreed to help this Torin Grayrider, yet she was on the verge of betraying him to total strangers. Of course, **he** was little more than a stranger, as well, but… She truly wanted to believe Torin was genuine, that he was telling the truth…at least in as much as he was willing to reveal. His eyes…those piercing, blue eyes…seemed so sincere when he appealed to her for help. All her instincts told her he was not evil. He **had** lied to her…but he insisted it was to protect her. And she was inclined to believe him. But she was self-aware enough to recognize she was uncertain of her own motivation. Was it her instincts or her desires? Was it her judgment that told her to trust him or her **wish** that he be what he said he was? From the moment she had met him, he had stirred her. She could not define it exactly yet, but there was an intensity about him…a determination…a quiet purposefulness that she found intriguing.

It was ultimately her inability to resolve her confusion that led her to agree to the terms of the men that had come to the inn. Their story was certainly compelling. They warned her against Torin. Mounting evidence against him made them fear he was involved in the Emperor's assassination. They thought he could be plotting further infamy, and urged her cooperation to keep them informed of his actions and intentions – who he met, where he went, what he did. It was vital that she help them, for he could lead them to the other conspirators. The Blades could not follow Torin themselves for they were too conspicuous and could not risk his discovery and flight. But, they argued, if **she** was to travel with him as accepted companion, it was a simple matter to arrange a messaging system that would allow her to send word with minimal risk of being caught. She finally agreed, on the chance that they were telling the truth. Grayrider's arrival shortly after the assassination was no coincidence, she believed, and his unwillingness to be truthful with her was disturbing, at best. Yet she was uncomfortable in this role of spy. It was not her way and did not sit well with her. But she was loyal to the Empire, and could not bear it if she helped Torin and he turned out to be a nefarious assassin. And there was the fact that he sought Martin…she could not risk Martin's safety. Alessia would never forgive herself if anything were to happen to him because she had not been vigilant enough.

The next day she arrived at the orphanage to find Torin had arrived before her. He was playing with the young children, racing around like a child himself, carrying them on his back and tussling with the older boys. It touched something deep inside her. She held back and watched him for a time, assessing him. One of the little girls, Vala, was crying, and he ran to her solicitously and comforted her, wiping away her tears, picking her up, soothing her. The child nodded, her pouting, trembling bottom lip slowly retracting until a giggle escaped her tiny mouth, and within moments she was laughing delightedly. Alessia's heart swelled. **She** could have been that child twenty years ago, craving some small bit of attention from a compassionate adult. And this man had more than stepped up to the task. With a small gesture, he had made an impact on an orphan's life. She fought back the tears that filled her eyes. Surely this man could not be guilty of what he was suspected…this agile warrior with a sensitive side that played with children. She gathered herself and approached him.

Torin saw her stepping toward him and a great smile spread over his face without him realizing it. In truth, he was glad he was no longer in this alone…at least for a time, until they found Martin. He would just have to make sure nothing happened to his beautiful companion. He would not let her admirable loyalty to her friend be the cause of her death. Luckily, she appeared to be quite capable in her own right. And that, he was afraid, might prove to be necessary.

When Alessia saw him greet her with such a winning smile, her guilt was redoubled. He seemed to be willing to trust her, at least to a point. Something she could not return.

"Are you ready?" Torin asked her, "It's not too late to change your mind, you know. If you tell me where he is, I will do my best to see he is unharmed and taken to safety."

"I will not change my mind. Let us go," Alessia said softly, unwilling to make eye contact. She set out at Torin's side with the intent of spying on him…and hating herself for it.

* * *

They headed south first. Alessia's last letter from Martin put him in the countryside near Leyawiin, but as luck would have it, he had moved on by the time they caught his trail. She had not been greatly surprised. Martin was on the move constantly, going where he was needed, helping others. She had always admired that about him, his complete selflessness.

The days passed in search of Martin Septim the heir, Martin the Brother, Martin the friend to Alessia. For she still knew nothing of his true identity. They fought off the dangers of travel, defending themselves against bandit and beast, each earning the respect of the other. Their fighting styles seemed to mesh perfectly together so that they were a formidable team. Sword and shield, daggers and magic, bow and arrow blended seamlessly in a deadly routine.

Alessia passed on news of their travels to the Blades as she had promised, never revealing it was Martin they searched for. She would protect **him** in this at all costs. The Blades need not know **he** was the target of their search. For Alessia was convinced beyond doubt Martin had no part in any plot against the Emperor…not her Martin. He might be a pawn or a victim, but he was no conspirator. And as yet, she still had no clue to the mystery behind their frantic search. And so she walked a fine line between Torin and the Blades who had charged her to spy on him, endlessly trying to sort out the truth…to decide whose truth to believe - the man who admittedly withheld from her or the men who called upon her loyalties and pleaded for her assistance.

But every day Alessia found herself more drawn to Torin. Every day she found herself pulling farther away from the influence of the Blades. Torin had gotten over his initial shy awkwardness, which she had found charming for a man who had no reason to be shy **or** awkward. At night, they conversed easily over the fire in camp, sharing stories of their adventures, laughing at their misadventures. He was charismatic without trying to be. Alessia had learned much about him…about his childhood, his travels. One night she could not resist asking about the scar as she studied his handsome face…the one on his jaw she found so intriguing. They were gazing into the fire, the flames illuminating his strong chin, casting flickering shadows on the two inch long scar that ran along his hairline. She had seen him fight. She wondered who could have gotten to him, to leave such a mark on his otherwise perfect face. She reached out impulsively and traced a path with her finger down the length of it. "And what foolish adversary dared to give you this?" she teased, "And do I wish to hear what condition he is in now?"

Torin laughed heartily. "I'm afraid that particular adversary might still be out there inflicting scars or worse on unfortunate passersby…unless he has perished from old age," he admitted, shaking his head.

Alessia lifted her eyebrows in disbelief.

Torin sighed, realizing he was going to have to tell her his foolish tale. "I was seventeen and far more confident than my skills merited, I am ashamed to admit. I had the temerity to waltz past the territory of a ferocious grizzly, alone and on foot. Needless to say, I wasn't welcome. After a brief and pathetic encounter in which the bear paid tribute to my lack of talent with a claw to the side of my face, I realized my folly and ran to the nearest tree…"

Alessia was biting back the laughter, envisioning this stalwart warrior running from a bear and bounding up a tree.

"I climbed to the top and waited until the beast tired of leaping and circling and trying to climb up after me. Eventually, after several broken branches and more than one fall, it got bored and sauntered off. I finally came down several hours later, properly chastised for my arrogance and with a wound to show for it. My healing power was rudimentary at best in those days, so I was able to stop the bleeding but it did not heal completely," Torin said ruefully, rubbing his jaw.

Alessia could not help herself. She grinned ear to ear. He was humble, willing to reveal a moment that must surely have bruised his ego, then and probably now. That spoke volumes about him.

"Many women find such a battle scar attractive…indeed, sensual," Alessia said seductively. It occurred to her she had just opened the door for him without meaning to…but when she had said it, she realized she would welcome his advances. But at the same time she was apprehensive. She could not be sure who to trust. She **wanted** to trust him. From what she could tell, he had been open with her about everything, except Martin. Still, he had not told her the full truth of their journey. Yet even in that, he was being honest…he just abjectly refused to discuss it.

If he had taken the opening she had left him, she would have given in to him in spite of her reservations. Her intuition told her to believe in him…and it was her desire to be with him. But he made no move to claim her. He looked at her for a moment as though deciding what he should do.

Then he laughed lightly, and the sexual tension between them was dispelled. "Do they? And all this time I thought it was my charming personality," he joked.

He knew the moment was there and did not take it, Alessia thought with a mixture of irritation, disappointment, and relief. Why did he withhold? It was plain there was something between them, that he desired her as well. She wondered at it. And she wondered at the man.

* * *

And so it went, as time passed in their fruitless quest. They searched. And always, Martin was already gone. Torin was clearly frustrated. But it had given Alessia time…time she needed to come to the conclusion that Torin Grayrider was not the man the Blades had described. As her admiration for him grew, so had her guilt for deceiving him, for spying on him. She had grown to trust him…to believe that he really was trying to help Martin. He was honorable in his dealings with others, kind and compassionate, brave, and stalwart. She had come to believe that the reason she had so easily picked up on his falsehood at the orphanage was that he was so unaccustomed to lying that he was painfully bad at it. If she was right, and every instinct told her this was so, then he was a good man, risking his life to save Martin for some important reason she could not begin to fathom. He had pleaded with her to trust him…not an easy thing for her, growing up as she did. But she found every moment she spent with him chipped away at the wall of self-protective distrust she had built up around her heart over the years.

There was much she still didn't know, but she had decided, after spending nearly four weeks with this man, that she would no longer spy on him. Alessia sent word to the Blades that she believed Torin was innocent of the charges they leveled against him and she would no longer report to them on his activities. She still felt ashamed for having spied on him, but she had done no harm, she believed, and she had ended it. She would have to tell him at some point, when the time was right…when he would forgive her. But now, she wanted him to trust her…to let her help him. And it would not do for him to know her disloyal behavior yet, even if her intentions were honorable. She had made a mistake, and she intended to make up for it.

One night, when he thought she had retired, Alessia noticed him once again pull out the elaborately designed dagger, turning it over in his hands as though haunted by it. It was not the first time she had seen him perform this strange ritual, yet it was the first time that it struck her as **being** a ritual…something he seemed driven to do. As she had seen him do before, he gazed at it with a strange expression on his face…was it remorse? A sadness seemed to envelop him. Always he would stare absently at the weapon for a time, absorbed in his own thoughts, then put the blade into his pack and go to his tent. Never did the dagger leave his possession. Never did she see him use it. She was not given to prying, but she was fascinated. Clearly, this weapon was the focal point of some painful memory. Did it belong to someone he cared about? Perhaps if he told her, she could help him get past it. One night, Alessia's curiosity overwhelmed her discretion. She came up behind him quietly.

"What is that weapon, the Daedric dagger that you study every night? It is magical in nature, I can see. You ponder it as though there were a history," Alessia said softly.

Torin jerked his head over his shoulder in surprise, irritated he had let himself be caught in his self-recriminations. Alessia walked around in front of him and sat back down next to the campfire, waiting patiently.

He studied her face for a few moments trying to decide whether to tell her why he pulled out the dagger every night…to remember…to regret. Part of him wanted to tell her...to share his dread secret with her. Strange how he wanted her to know what he had done when he had spent his entire adult life hiding it. It surprised him to find it was so, for he had never wanted to reveal his disgrace to anyone. Yet he found he wanted this woman to know him. Never before had he considered aligning himself with just one woman…such that he craved a woman's affection as much as her body, such that he needed her understanding. Yet Torin sat there pondering just that with Alessia, for he was quite taken with her.

But he was afraid…afraid she would not understand…afraid she would not forgive…that she would look at him differently, or be too repelled to look at him at all. No, it would not do for her to find out now…to find out he had once trafficked with the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon to gain his mighty dagger, the "Razor"…that he had once lusted for the power such a weapon would give him, that he succumbed to his desire for it, doing the unthinkable…that he had allowed himself to be seduced by the darkness that was Mehrunes Dagon. Would she understand the foolish indiscretion of youth, knowing he had spent his life trying to make up for it, that it was his greatest regret? Possibly. But he could take no chances now. He needed her help to find Martin and save him. Perhaps when this was all over…

"It…is my penance. I carry it to remind myself of my mistake…to prevent others from making the same mistake," was all he finally said, unable to hide the grief in his voice. And he left it at that.

While she was now more curious than ever to know what mistake he could have made that could have taken such an emotional toll on him, Alessia did not press him, for she could see he wished to say no more. She found herself riveted by this enigma of a man. Perhaps in time, when she knew him better, she would ask again and he would want to tell her.

* * *

They camped early the next day, the terrain and Alessia making the decision for them. They were in a clearing near a crystal pool with a small waterfall that provided them some measure of protection as it was bordered by a cliff on three sides. Torin was not entirely comfortable with the site even though they had scouted the surrounding area and there was no sign of trouble. But Alessia had insisted. She craved a bath and the pool seemed ideal, so, in spite of his misgivings, she persuaded him to stop early. When they had finished setting up the campsite, she began to gather her things to go down to the waterside. Torin folded his arms, an uneasy look on his face that clearly called her judgment into question.

Alessia caught it and laughed...a beautiful lilting laugh that enchanted him. "Come Torin, one would think you were an old woman, worrying so, not an experienced adventurer! If you are so concerned, come with me and watch my back while I wash away the dust of the road," she teased. If this did not entice him, she thought, perhaps nothing would. He was being coy with her for no discernible reason, but she fully intended to pursue the advantage she was about to have.

Torin flushed at being called an old woman, much to Alessia's delight. "Very well," he assented. He would not be comfortable being so near her bathing, but he would see to it she was in no danger while she was defenseless.

They walked down to the edge of the pool and Torin reluctantly turned his back while a highly amused Alessia disrobed and slipped into the water. He could only imagine what he was missing. Damn it!

"Alright! It is safe for you to turn around! I am in the pool now, grandmother," she called mischievously.

He smirked disgustedly at her attempted humor and turned around to scan the area for potential dangers, careful not to gaze at her for fear of his desire getting out of hand.

Alessia smiled broadly as she tread water. He was clearly doing everything possible not to look at her…which meant he desperately wanted to and did not trust himself.

She finished bathing and decided to try her gambit. "Torin, would you check to see that I brought my brush down to the pool? I'd like to comb out my hair after my bath. It should be in my things behind you there," she asked with sweetest innocence.

Torin turned around distractedly to check her belongings and she seized her opportunity, choosing that moment to emerge from the water. When he turned to respond to her, hairbrush in hand, his eyes widened in stunned shock at the vision of her glistening body approaching him. Then he recovered himself and whipped around in delayed embarrassment, the object of his desire now forever burned into his memory.

Alessia grinned to herself and sauntered past him, casually relieving him of the hairbrush he had forgotten he still held. She gathered her clothes, seemingly indifferent to his glimpse of her.

Immediately, Torin averted his gaze and turned away again, swallowing hard.

She stifled a laugh and dried off. As she dressed, she teased him boldly, "Why do you fear me, brave warrior? I do not bite…**often.**"

He could not shake the image from his mind. By the Nine! Torin was not a fool. He knew she was inviting him to change the nature of their relationship, but he dare not get involved with her now…much as he wanted to…much as he liked her. Alessia knew nothing about the forces at work here, for he had told her nothing about the dangers they faced. And the threat would only grow. He could not embroil her any further in this. He would accept her help only as far as finding Martin. And that meant keeping his hands to himself. But now, curse her little coquettish games, Torin knew **exactly** what he **was** missing. Her intent, no doubt. He groaned inwardly. "I…" he started, finding his mouth too dry to finish his sentence. He licked his lips and cleared his throat before finally muttering, "We…have more important things to do. We must focus on tracking Martin."

She eyed him a few moments, a slight smile playing at the corner of her lips. Indeed, he was a poor liar. "So you would cling to that as your pretext? Your sense of duty is the alibi you would use?" Alessia asked at last, amused he was still too uncomfortable to face her. Clearly, she had gotten to him. But she would not push him anymore this day. She had learned what she needed to know. He **was** interested. She chuckled. "Perhaps there is a measure of truth to that. But I know you desire me as I desire you. Yet you do nothing about it. I will tell you without arrogance, I am unaccustomed to being turned away, and your reasoning is flimsy at best. No, I think there is more at play here than your single-mindedness," she declared. Then she leaned into his back and murmured coyly in his ear, her voice soft and teasing, "We will find Martin soon enough, and I wonder…when we do, what will you use for your excuse?" She grinned knowingly and with a light laugh pulled away from him and strolled back to camp.

Torin released a long low breath then as though let off the hook. Or was it that he found it hard to breathe around her? He laughed. He was certain she **was** unaccustomed to being turned away and it had taken every ounce of his will to keep his distance. Still, somehow he knew it wasn't over…that she would not let this thing happening between them go so easily. And he felt a strange mixture of dread and excitement at the prospect.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

"To Save the Emperor"

Torin had thought about it all week. He could keep it from her no longer. He respected Alessia. He liked her. Every day she risked her life without knowing why…on his word alone. At first, he had been unsure he could trust her. Now, he was only trying to protect her. But it wasn't fair to her to expect her faith without offering his own. Torin owed her the truth even if it meant it would be more difficult to make her go later. She should know just what was at stake…just what they were up against. He poked the fire with a stick absent-mindedly.

Alessia came up and sat next to him. "What is it, Torin? You've been stabbing at the fire for a while now. What troubles you?" she asked softly.

He took a deep breath. She looked at him expectantly. "Martin…the reason I'm trying to find him…the reason he's in danger…" He told her everything…the whole truth as he knew it, holding nothing back.

Alessia was astounded. Was it possible? Her friend, Martin? The quiet, gentle Brother of the Nine Divines? A Septim? Heir to the Empire? It was too much to grasp. But Torin clearly believed it, and was risking his life to help a man he had never met. And, of course, Martin was an abandoned child as she was. He never knew his parents. It…**could** be true. She shook her head in disbelief. It explained why Torin was so anxious to find him quickly. The Empire **itself** was at stake and reeling in the wake of the Emperor's murder. Now more than ever, she was determined to help him…to see this thing through. They had to find Martin, quietly and quickly.

"Are you…angry with me? For not telling you sooner?" Torin asked tentatively. "I wanted to, Less…but I didn't want to endanger you any more than I had to…and…I…had to be sure I could trust you," he finished.

Alessia smiled slightly, grateful for his faith at last. She shook her head. "I am not angry. I…understand your reasons. Thank you…for trusting in me now. I will not disappoint you, I swear it. You **can** trust me, Torin, please believe that," she entreated, her words holding more meaning than he yet knew.

"I **do** trust you, Alessia…," Torin told her sincerely. His eyes held hers a moment too long before he averted his gaze.

She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought of the part she had played in the scheme of the Blades. She had been wrong. But she knew which side she was on now. She would not let Torin down again. This, she swore.

* * *

More than six weeks had passed since they had set out together to find Martin. Finally, they caught a break in their search. Mercifully, it appeared the assassins had not yet found him, either, though Torin was unsure if they were even aware of Martin's existence. The monk was seen in Kvatch, a small village off the road from Imperial City to Chorrol. But when they arrived, the village was under siege. It was madness. A portal to Oblivion, the realm of the Daedra, had opened at the city gates and all manner of foul Daedric creature was pouring forth. They were too late! The covenant had been broken and the seal for the barrier to the realm of Oblivion torn open! The beasts had laid waste to the town and the few survivors were trapped in the Chapel of Akatosh. But none of the remaining city guard could get to them until the Gate was closed. The guard captain, Savlian Matius, had sent men to try to close the Gate from within, but none had returned. Torin looked at Alessia and smiled slightly, tilting his head as if to tell her he had to help them. She marveled at his courage and nodded, preparing to enter the Gate with him, but he took her by the arm.

"No," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

But there was a great deal of room for argument as far as she was concerned, and she indeed began to argue, "But I can help you! You know I can fight. You cannot go in there alone!"

He smiled at her ferocity…at her protectiveness. "You are indeed a fearsome opponent, Alessia. I do not doubt you can defend yourself or that you would aid me. That is not the problem. It is just that if I do not return…Martin is still in there. I need you to get him to safety if I cannot. Will you do that for me, Less?" He asked softly, knowing she would.

She looked at him, suddenly fearful….not for herself, but for him. She knew he was right. Martin must be protected...not just because he was her friend, but because he was her Emperor. He must be brought back to Jauffre. But she could not bear the thought of him going into Oblivion without aid…of him…dying there alone.

The anguished look on her face moved him. "I will be alright. I have fought all manner of creature in my travels and lived to tell the tale. I will be back and we will rescue Martin at last," Torin said confidently, a twinkle in his eye. "Do not fear for me, Less. The Daedra hasn't been spawned that can handle me!" he boasted, smiling at her roguishly.

"You arrogant bastard, don't you leave me here alone to do your dirty work," she ordered, trying to mask her fear. Then she softened her tone, "Come back, Torin."

"I live to carry out your merest whim, milady," he promised, with a grin and a bow. Then he turned toward the Gate and stepped through the portal into the world of the Daedra.

* * *

It was hot. Unbearably hot. The place reeked of fiery burning sulfur. Torin scanned the area. Red. Everything in Oblivion had a reddish tinge – the ground, the structures, the plants. Even the sky was crimson, though not from any distant star's fading light, for Oblivion was a sunless plane. The landscape was harsh and barren surrounded by molten, bubbling lava seas. Claw-like appendages protruded from the earth and strange fleshy pods hung suspended from them, creating a macabre and sinister environment. Great towers rose high into the sky. Torin sensed that was where he needed to go to close the Gate. Cautiously, he advanced towards the first Tower, weapon drawn.

* * *

Alessia could not just stand by idly and wait. Martin needed her help…and, in truth, she could not stand waiting and wondering about Torin. The Gate blocked the only entrance to the town, but she was resourceful. If they could not get in the conventional way… "Captain, give me a few men to get to the Chapel and protect the civilians inside. I have an idea."

They skirted the walls of the town and finding no easy breaching point, she decided that they would have to go over. Kvatch was not an important place and the walls not built very high. No one would need to capture such an insignificant waypoint. The stockade was primarily intended to keep out predators, not a full-scale armed siege. They got as close to the Chapel as they could and began building up crates and planks against the wall to scale it.

When Alessia and the three men she had been assigned dropped into the Chapel courtyard, they found two terrifying creatures awaiting them. The Clannfear was a relatively small beast, but quick, with razor-sharp talons and a large, tough, leathery shielding on its head that allowed it to charge its prey with great force, knocking it to the ground. A giant lizard-like creature with powerful clawed arms, the Daedroth had massive snapping jaws that spewed fire. Alessia was taken aback by the ferocious monsters. She had never seen the like…though Oblivion had never opened up and sent forth its minions to attack her before. She had heard stories, but this… Awestruck, she was barely able to dodge the ramming attempt by the Clannfear. Quickly recovering herself, she barked out directions to the guards. They split up, overcoming the Daedra beasts and clambering into the Chapel.

"Martin!" she shouted.

"Alessia! What are you doing here?" Martin cried when he saw her.

They embraced. "Martin, there is much to tell you, but we cannot talk here, not now. But know there is a man who is sent to help you. Even now he tries to end the threat to Kvatch and close the Gate to Oblivion," she said.

Martin breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness help has arrived. These are fearsome creatures. How many men did he bring?" he asked.

"Aside from me, he is alone," she answered.

"What!?" Martin cried. "One man alone has gone into Oblivion? What chance does he have?" he lamented dejectedly.

Alessia smiled. "You do not know Torin Grayrider. He is…extraordinary," she said softly, more to herself than to Martin.

* * *

Torin had fought his way through hidden traps and unimaginable creatures…for truly, the denizens of Oblivion **were** unimaginable in appearance and power. Snarls and roars rent the air, and even the higher forms, the humanoid Daedra, uttered naught but grunts and growls. With caution he had never shown in his devil-may-care adventuring, he slowly advanced through this gauntlet of the unknown, taking care to note the strengths and weaknesses of each foe he faced to better prepare him for the next.

The third tower he entered was a near-duplicate of the previous two. A strange and deadly spiked elevator contraption lay at the bottom of the tower and a circular ramp wound around the edge of the wall to the top, leading him past hanging cages with tortured dead bodies and gruesome sights too horrible to describe. At the top of each, he had thus far found only a lever or door leading somewhere else in this grisly labyrinthine world.

But the fourth keep was different. It was the largest, and a faint yellow light emanated from the top of the tower. From the moment he entered, he sensed it was the one he sought. It was well-guarded and a great central column of fire rose upward from its floor to the pinnacle. His senses reeling under the onslaught of foulness that everywhere met his eyes, he climbed ever upward through a series of oozing doors and flesh-walled chambers dispatching the guardians of this ghastly plane until, at last, he found himself in a strange corridor containing fountains of blood and mana reservoirs. Torin circled around until he entered a great chamber where flesh and sinew were stretched taut to create floors and ramps. Horrified, he continued on to the top. A bizarre structure caught his gaze, seemingly held in the grip of the pillar of fire. Seated on its base was a great sparkling stone that seemed alive, pulsing with power. Torin reached out to it tentatively and withdrew his hand quickly as though he expected to be burned. But strangely, he found he was not burned, and his hand advanced toward the stone again. He hesitated as his gauntlet hovered just before the extraordinary gem. Somehow, he **knew** the stone was the key. It was at the apex of what was apparently the primary tower in this terrible land. It **had** to be the source of power. It **had** to be controlling the Gate…didn't it? The question was, did he, a mere mortal, have the ability to derail it? And if he did, could he survive the process? His thoughts turned unexpectedly to Alessia. Taking a deep breath, he plunged his hand into the flames and pulled the stone from its perch. A great flash of light blinded him, a deafening roar assailed his ears, and then…nothingness.

* * *

They had been barricaded in the chapel for almost three hours. Alessia stared at the door, willing him to bang on it to be let in. Every minute that passed made her more anxious. He **would** come back. She **knew** it. But it did not stop her heart from aching.

"Does he know?" Martin's soft voice behind her interrupted her dire thoughts.

Alessia turned. "Know? Know what?" she asked in genuine confusion.

"How you feel about him, this Grayrider?" Martin asked knowingly.

"What?" Alessia asked guiltily as though the thought had just occurred to her. "No…you are mistaken. We…barely know each other. And you know me, I never get emotionally involved," Alessia argued half-heartedly.

Martin smiled broadly. "Yes, I **do** know you. And it seems, my dear Alessia, that after all these years, you have finally met a man who has involved your emotions. Unless that door you cannot take your eyes off has suddenly become more fascinating than your old friend, Martin," he teased.

Alessia scowled at him. He had always enjoyed teasing her. But he was wrong this time. She liked Torin, certainly…desired him, she could not deny…but she did not…she wasn't….Martin was wrong. Wasn't he?

A sudden commotion outside drew their attention to the door. She unbolted the latch and cracked it to see what was happening. Torin! she thought, her heart leaping. He was fighting off three Daedric creatures and two more were running towards him. "It is Torin, the Gate must be closed! Come, we must help him!" Alessia cried.

"But what if the Gate is not closed? What if he returned because he could not defeat them in Oblivion?" a timid voice shouted from behind her as she tore down the barricade frantically.

She shouted back, still clawing at the blocked doorway, "He would not have returned had he not closed the Gate. You do not know Torin Grayrider," she said smiling, looking directly at Martin. "Stay here! We will return when we have dispatched the daemons," she ordered, and flew out the door to Torin's side, her bow drawn and firing as she ran. Five guards leaped out behind her and within a few minutes of utter chaos, the Daedra had been subdued.

Before Torin had caught his breath, Alessia had run up to him. "I knew Oblivion could not take you!" she cried happily.

"You weren't worried about me, were you?" Torin asked, teasing her. He realized after he had asked it that he wanted to know the answer. Badly.

"Quickly! Let's get these civilians out of here," Matius shouted and the guards escorted Martin and the others toward the refugee camp.

Torin looked at Alessia and said, "Go with Martin. I will help the guards clean out the rest of the town and the castle and meet you back at the camp." He smiled.

She nodded, returning his smile. He had marched into the jaws of Oblivion alone and returned the conqueror. She was no longer worried about him.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Double-Edged Blade"

Martin was astonished when Torin filled him in with what little Jauffre and the Emperor had told him. He would not have believed it if Alessia hadn't assured him she now believed it, too. The Emperor's son? Him? He was but a humble Brother of the Nines. But after the initial shock wore off, he accepted it numbly, and they headed to Weynon Priory to meet up with Jauffre.

When they arrived at the Priory, they were stunned to find it under attack by Mythic Dawn agents. They secured Martin and helped fight off the assailants, but much to their chagrin, they discovered the assassins had stolen the Amulet of Kings. Without it, the covenant with Akatosh could not be renewed…the portal to Oblivion could not be sealed.

The Priory was no longer safe for Martin, clearly. Jauffre still lived, mercifully, and he had insisted they make for Cloud Ruler Temple, the training grounds and stronghold of the Blades. It was a forbidding fortified structure high atop a mountain north of Bruma, built by King Reman Cyrodiil's Akaviri Dragonguard, at the founding of the Second Empire. Since then, it had served the Blades as a headquarters, fortress, and sanctuary. The remote location and the presence of a number of highly trained Blades made it the safest place for the heir to the Empire to lay low.

As they rode north, Torin turned it over and over in his mind. And still he could not come up with a reason. Why? Why take the talisman? What use to a band of assassins? Only the Emperor himself could use it in any meaningful mystical way. To the rest of the world it was simply a very expensive bauble…one they would have a difficult time selling, for it was recognizable to all. To what purpose had this cult gone to such extremes, meticulously planning this assault upon the monks? Surely they must have known these brothers were Blades, for they knew just where to find the piece. And yet it did not faze them to attack an outpost of some of the most skilled warriors in the land. Everything was so deliberate…so well-planned. Was it possible they knew of Martin's existence and sought to prevent the rise of the only remaining Septim to his lawful place on the throne? To keep the Empire plunged in chaos? Were they so bent on anarchy they could not see the obvious danger in unleashing the hounds of Oblivion? Yet Torin could not fathom any other reason. He shook his head. It was for greater minds than his to determine the why. His purpose now was to ascertain the where. For the Amulet had to be found. And that meant the Mythic Dawn had to be found. It was no longer a question of justice and retribution for a murdered Emperor, it was a matter of survival. And Torin Grayrider had just made it his personal mission to see the Amulet of Kings returned to its rightful owner.

* * *

As he entered the great Cloud Ruler Temple, Torin noticed a massive plaque hung over the door with the words of Talos, the human Emperor Tiber Septim raised to a Divine, etched into it: "Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel." It was the mantra of the Blades. Martin would surely be safe here.

Jauffre explained everything in detail to an dazed Martin who, like Torin and Alessia before him, had trouble grasping the enormity of it.

"So you see, Martin," Jauffre explained, "the only way to close the Gates permanently is to find someone of the royal bloodline to retake the throne and relight the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. We believe you are that person, the Emperor's fourth child…now his only living heir. And you bear the mark of the Dragonborn. There is no question."

Martin slumped onto a bench, looking like a frightened rabbit with no place to run. It was not that he was afraid…but he was certainly overwhelmed. Alessia came up and sat beside him, putting her arms around him to comfort him, laying her head on his stunned shoulder.

A twinge of jealousy shot through Torin then. It was to be expected, he told himself. They were, and had always been, close. There was a natural intimacy between Alessia and Martin, a lifetime of shared history, of memories he would never be part of. Much to his great irritation, he could not make the feeling go away. He was being childish and unfair, he knew. Martin had received the shock of his life…to be told that he was the Emperor of a great civilization in crisis and the target of assassins all within the space of a few days…it was too much for any man. At a time like this, a man needed his friends and…loved ones around him. Torin swallowed hard at the last thought. He did not actually know the nature of their relationship, any more than he really understood the nature of his **own** relationship with Alessia. They had spoken no words of endearment to each other. She had not said that she felt for him, nor he for her…but it did not mean he did not feel something because the words had not been spoken.

Torin was not a jealous man by nature…which was all the more reason that his turmoil now surprised and annoyed him so…because he recognized the emotion. He had never felt it before. It made him feel unclean and petty. Watching her kiss Martin tenderly on the cheek and whisper words of comfort in his ear irritated him. He did not wish to begrudge Martin this small consolation, but he finally had to turn away, unable to watch her hang on him any longer. What right had he to feel this way? he asked himself angrily. He had rebuffed her advances, resisted her considerable charms. There was nothing between them. He had seen to that. So why was it bothering him that she turned to her old friend in his time of need? Had he not promised himself they were done when Martin was safe? But no amount of logic could erase the dark cloud that had settled over him. What was wrong with him?!

"Blades! Dark times are upon us. The Emperor and his sons were slain on our watch…a burden we must forever bear. The Empire is in chaos. But there is yet hope. Here is Martin Septim, true son of Uriel Septim!" Jauffre announced to the men and women gathered in the main hall of Cloud Ruler Temple.

"Hail, Dragonborn! Hail, Martin Septim! Hail!" the Blades shouted. To a man and woman, the fifty strong bent knee and swore their fealty to Martin Septim, son of Uriel, new Emperor of Cyrodiil. Torin could not help but notice that Alessia fairly beamed at Martin. Again, he felt the noxious clawing at his heart.

Alessia was immensely proud of Martin. He had borne up remarkably well under the circumstances. He would make a fine Emperor. "You will be a wonderful leader, Martin!" she praised him after the ceremony. "Tamriel is lucky to have you. **I'm** lucky to have you," she said, giving him a bear hug.

"Your Highness. The Blades are at your command. You will be safe here until you can take up your throne," the Grandmaster said, kneeling.

"Jauffre. All of you. I'm not used to giving speeches. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate your welcome here. I hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. That's it. Thank you," Martin said lamely. He flushed, embarrassed by the pathetic nature of his first public address.

Jauffre turned to Torin then. "You, young Grayrider, have proven yourself a loyal servant of the Empire, as worthy as any of the Blades to stand by Martin's side during this crisis. As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honored to accept you into our order. Will you join us?" he asked.

Torin was stunned. He had not expected… He looked around thinking he would see scowls of disapproval from the other Blades, but it was not so. All he saw were nods and murmurs of "Yes!" and "Hear! Hear!" His eyes caught Alessia's. She looked at him strangely, a mixture of pride and…something else…he was not sure, but his heart skipped a beat. She smiled and it soared.

Martin clapped him on the back, "I owe you much, my friend, and I cannot think of anyone I should rather have guarding my back. Say yes," he coaxed.

Alessia nodded in agreement.

"I…if you think I am worthy of such an honor…" Torin stammered modestly.

A cheer rose up.

"It is my privilege to welcome you into our ranks as a Knight Brother of the Blades," Jauffre announced to more cheers.

Alessia watched Torin receiving all the praise and adulation he so richly deserved. He took it in stride, sheepishly, without arrogance. And she was filled with admiration for him. As she watched him, another emotion unexpectedly forced its way into her heart and awareness of it shocked her. She swallowed hard. Was it possible? Could Martin be right? Did she really feel something for this remarkable man? In spite of his reticence, for which she had no explanation, Alessia thought he might feel something for her. They had grown closer in their time travelling together and he had entrusted her with his great undertaking. Her mind raced back to the night the Blades convinced her to spy on Torin and her guilt resurfaced. She had to talk to Martin. He would tell her what to do to fix this mess she had created. Because she wanted to tell Torin everything, but she didn't know how. And suddenly, it was important to her to clear the air.

Martin leaned in to Alessia while Torin was receiving his congratulations. "Not much of a speech, was it?" he said, shrugging sheepishly.

Alessia shook off her thoughts and looked at him sympathetically. It really wasn't. But it didn't matter. The Blades were behind him, proclaiming him the true Dragonborn. The oratory prowess would come when he had adapted to the life…when he was over the shock. He was an intelligent man, he would be just fine. "It will come to you, don't worry," she said, pushing his hair off his face gently. He reminded her now of that scared little boy she used to look after. He had always been so shy that she had taken him under her wing. And they had become fast friends.

"Didn't seem to bother **them**, though. The Blades saluting me and hailing me as Martin Septim. I…don't mean to sound ungrateful. I know I would be dead by now if it weren't for you and Torin. Thank you. But everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do…how to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do. And I haven't the faintest idea…" he said uncertainly.

"It will come to you, don't worry," she said again, a teasing sparkle in her eye.

Martin laughed. She always made him feel better about himself. She had given him confidence when he was growing up, faith in himself that he could do anything. Of course, at the time, he didn't think that being Emperor would be on his list. Still, he could tell she believed in him. Perhaps, with the proper guidance from the Council… He knew the Elder Council ruled in the Emperor's absence by ancient tradition. Chancellor Ocato, the head of the Elder Council, was the closest thing the Empire had to a leader right now. Between them, they could turn this crisis around. Martin had to believe that.

Torin searched the well-wishing faces for Alessia's, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, of that enigmatic smile she had given him moments ago. But instead, his eyes found her and Martin off in the corner laughing and teasing each other, Alessia's hand intimately brushing away a strand of hair from Martin's face. Torin's mood darkened and he turned away.

* * *

He lay awake half the night thinking about it. He had not discussed it with Alessia…his intention to leave her behind while he sought the Amulet. But he had never intended for her to accompany him in the first place. She had insisted…to help Martin. It was about Martin for her from the beginning, and rightfully so. He was her friend, now her Emperor, and…what else? Torin wondered. He had only allowed her to come this far so he could get Martin to safety. That had been accomplished. He should be able to cut her loose easily now. Alessia had what she came for. **He** had what he was sent for. Except that he could no longer deny to himself that the unexpected had happened while they traveled together…he had come to care for her. She had flirted shamelessly with him, of course, while he pretended disinterest, but he was certain she knew better. As experienced as he was at playing the game, she was the better. Torin grinned. She wasn't just a beautiful, courageous woman. She was smart and bold and engaging, and he had found, in spite of himself, that he looked forward to their quiet time alone at night. They had shared personal moments at the campfire that carried greater significance for him than their seductive banter. He had come to appreciate her company…to value her thoughts and ideas. Yet for all his self-discovery now, he had no idea what her **real** feelings were. Was all her talk merely casual, good-natured teasing? Maybe that's all it was for her. Maybe it would be a simple thing for her to go her own way now. But for Torin, it was anything **but** simple. Because for him, it had become more than desire. He had not sought it, but it had found him. And he did not know what to do. He did not want to endanger her further, but the idea of never seeing her again… Sleep did not find him easily that night and he tossed and turned with the weight of his burdensome thoughts.

The next morning found things still murky for him and the time for departure was approaching. He was passing an alcove on his way to gather his equipment and he saw them together. He stepped back into the shadows to avoid being seen and watched them for a few moments. He was too far away to hear them and they spoke in muted tones, but he did not need to hear them to make up his mind. Alessia's arms were wrapped around Martin's neck, her head touching his intimately as she spoke softly to him, his hands resting familiarly on her hips.

"Oh Martin, you've always known just the right thing to say. Thank you," she said softly, kissing the corner of his mouth lightly and hugging him blissfully.

Torin bristled.

Martin pulled back and grinned at her. "Just let him win an argument once in a while, my little spitfire," he teased.

She laughed delightedly. "He'll have to get used to losing, I think," she returned playfully, "**You** did."

Martin grabbed his heart as though she had cut him to the quick. "You wound me, sweet Alessia. I **chose** not to argue. You must remember I am a Brother of the Nines with patience beyond that of normal men," he answered.

Alessia's eyes lit up. "**He** is no normal man," she said wistfully.

"Of that, I am certain. He has proven to be an exceptional man, indeed," Martin agreed. Then his face turned serious. "You must tell him the truth, Alessia. You must be honest with him. And if he is the man you believe him to be, then he will find a way to forgive you, to understand. It may take some time, but if he cares for you, he will find a way to get past it. I **know** you, Alessia. You were put in a terrible situation. You made the only choice you could under the circumstances. I think this man will understand. But you must give him the chance to forgive. The longer you delay, the worse the infraction becomes. You must tell him…and sooner than later," Martin advised her.

Alessia nodded. "I know. I should have told him earlier. I was trying to find the right words…the right time," she said.

"**I** know this, Alessia," Martin said, "But this is something you must make **him** understand as well…why you waited. But you cannot put it off any longer. It will only become more difficult."

He put his arms around her sympathetically and she melted into his chest, sighing. "You are right. I will do as you say. I'm so glad I came to you with this, Martin. I knew you would help me sort this out. I knew you would understand. You will say nothing?" she asked.

Martin stroked her hair soothingly. "It is our secret, I promise. It will be alright, you will see. I had hoped this day would come. I am happy for you. Now you must do what you can to make things work between you. It will be not be easy. It will require compromise. That is what love is…compromise. But I have seen the way he looks at you. I do not think you need fear he will not return your feeling. Open yourself up to him. Risk everything. I think you will be rewarded," he told her.

Alessia smiled radiantly at him, hoping his words rang true.

Martin kissed her on the forehead tenderly. It was the kiss of a man who loved a woman…but not the kiss of a man who was **in love** with a woman.

If Torin had still been watching, he would have seen this, but he was no longer there…and he had come to a decision. He hadn't realized how strongly he felt until he saw her with another man, one she had known all her life. Perhaps it was just as well, he tried to convince himself. Her part in this was done. Martin was safe now that he was surrounded by Blades, and Alessia was safer with the new Emperor than with Torin, who was headed back into the teeth of the lion. He would go it alone again as he always had. He would find the Amulet and restore the rightful heir to the throne to relight the Dragonfires. Then he would resign his Blades commission and return to his way of life. But even as he thought it, somehow, it no longer appealed to him.

In any case, Alessia would soon be out of his life. He had to accept that.

"Torin!" Martin shouted, catching up to the adventurer as he finished loading his pack. "I have studied the books in the library on this topic and I may be on to something. All practitioners of Daedric magic are familiar with the almost impenetrable barrier between our world and Oblivion. What the Emperor told you implies that the Amulet is the key to the preservation of that barrier. What I saw at Kvatch…everything I know about Daedric magic says that such stable portals are impossible. Yet those Gates to Oblivion existed. It seems the old rules no longer apply. I'm certain Kvatch is only the beginning. If the Amulet is truly the key to restoring the barriers between our world and Oblivion, you must waste no time in recovering it," Martin told him.

"And you **know** about Daedric magic?" Torin asked, suddenly feeling nervous about his new Emperor.

Martin lowered his head in shame. "I…I haven't always been a priest. In my youth, I followed a different path. I…know more than I want to about the seductive power of Daedric sorcery. Let's just leave it at that," he said softly.

Torin studied him for a moment. **He** knew something about the lure of Daedric magic…and about succumbing to it. Torin nodded in understanding and did not press his new Emperor. Instead, he placed his hand on the shoulder of his sovereign and said sincerely, "You are a good man, Martin Septim, and I believe you will be a fine ruler. I will return the Amulet to you. You have my word."

Alessia approached them as he made ready to leave. She kissed Martin and embraced him. Torin turned away, continuing his preparations.

"We will find the Amulet, Martin, I swear it. We will end this madness," Alessia vowed.

"I believe you will, my little spitfire," Martin said playfully, resorting to his long-standing nickname for Alessia. She had always been proud, independent and rebellious. "You have always taken care of things," he finished.

She smiled radiantly at him, remembering their childhood relationship fondly. Then she turned, focusing her attention on the adventurer. They had not been alone together in almost two weeks, since before they had arrived in Kvatch. There had been no time and less privacy. Alessia found she looked forward to spending time with him again. And more importantly, she was determined to tell him what she had done. She still found it strange that in all the time she had spent among the Blades, that it had never come up, nor did they seem remotely suspicious of Torin. And now Torin had been inducted into their Order. Perhaps her final communique had convinced them they were wrong about him. Still, she had hoped to get a chance to speak with the men that had recruited her, to explain her position more fully, but she had never seen or heard from them again. But she supposed they could have been just Blades operating independently on their own theories. It was her understanding that Blades had carte blanche to do anything they deemed necessary to protect the Empire and its ruler. She wished she could speak to Jauffre of it. But that would mean revealing her own part in it and **that** she was not willing to do yet, not before she told Torin. And truly it was of little consequence now. She had seen the truth about Torin for herself and divested herself from the situation. Martin was safe. Now, all that remained was for her to tell Torin what she had done and offer her sincerest apologies. For after that, she would speak to him on matters of the heart. The thought made her nervous. Never had she felt the pangs she felt now. It was exhilarating and terrifying. Always she had guarded herself, protected herself so she would not be hurt. But Martin had helped her understand that she could never truly know love if she did not extend herself…if she did not risk her heart. And for the first time in her young life, Alessia wanted to take that risk. She had met someone that made her heart beat faster, someone she admired and believed in. It had been less than two months, but it was enough for her to know Torin was what she wanted. But until this was all out in the open, she could not take that step. He deserved to know the truth. She could only hope he could forgive her. Only then would she tell him how she felt.

"Are you ready, Torin?" Alessia asked.

"I…no…you're not going with me," he said as he gathered his things. "It's better for you to stay here with Martin. I'll find the Amulet and bring it back," Torin said coolly.

"What? What do you mean? Of course I'm going with you. You need my help. We make a good team and you know it," she said, confusion and anger welling up in her at his sudden change of heart.

"I'm not saying you're incompetent, I'm just saying I'm not taking you with me. Stay with Martin and look after him," he said.

"Look, Torin, I don't know what you are thinking, but this is too important for you to go gallivanting off on your own. The Amulet is critical to Martin ascending to the throne, to sealing the Gates to Oblivion. I **am** going!" Alessia insisted.

"No. You're not," he said simply, with finality.

"You are being…!" Alessia stammered, becoming frustrated with his unwillingness to discuss the matter. She turned to her friend, now the most powerful man in the land. "Martin, you are Emperor now, and you command the Blades. Order him to take me with him. It is too important. We cannot fail! Please Martin!" she urged.

Martin stepped up to Torin. "Look, friend, you have done much for me and I am grateful, but I am afraid she is right in this case. She **is** talented and she will be helpful to you. While everyone recognizes your tremendous feats at Kvatch, there is no point in risking failure now by not using all our resources at hand. I think you should take her," Martin said jovially. Then he leaned in to Torin, "I know you are trying to protect her, but she is very stubborn and will likely go anyway, so you might as well take her with you where you can keep an eye on her," he said softly.

He looked at Martin rigidly. "Are you **ordering** me to take her?"

Martin stiffened regally, unaccustomed to his new role. "Why yes, I suppose I am. There. My first command. Not so difficult," he said to himself proudly.

Torin chafed, but accepted that Martin was probably right. She might very well have followed. He glared at Alessia disgustedly for bringing his new Emperor into it and tersely said, "Come on, then."

That look he gave her cut her. He seemed so angry, so cold. Why? What had she done? Why did he want so desperately to make her stay behind…to get rid of her? Everything seemed fine between them when they arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple. What had happened?

They walked for a while before she said anything. "Do not be angry with me for involving Martin. I know I shouldn't have used my relationship with him to get what I wanted, but you were being a stubborn fool!" Alessia finally blurted out, unable to keep it to herself any longer.

What he heard her say was "my relationship with him". The knife in his gut twisted. "You're here now, so let's just forget it. I just thought you'd want to stay with Martin, that's all. He's your…friend and I thought you'd want to stay and protect him, not come with me," Torin said more casually than he felt.

"Martin is surrounded by Blades and well-protected for now. The best way to help him is to get that Amulet back and see him crowned Emperor. Then he will be truly safe and so will the people of Tamriel," she said firmly. "You need my help whether you are willing to admit it or not," she said to his back.

"Fine," he said condescendingly, not desiring to speak of it further.

"Fine!" she returned angrily. Alessia wanted to cry, but she would not give him the satisfaction. He would only use it as reason to send her back.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

"The Truth Will Set You Free"

They were crossing the Jerall Mountains. Few words had passed between them in the three days since they had left the Blades stronghold. Torin had opted for a shortcut across the mountains that would cut days off their travel time and would make it difficult for Mythic Dawn agents to pursue, if they were being followed. But it meant travelling on foot, for there was a reason this perilous route was rarely used - the way required them to traverse a narrow cliff ledge, little more than a foot wide for nearly a mile. They edged along facing the cliff wall for nearly half an hour, grasping cracks and outcroppings in the rock to keep them bound to the path. It was slow and treacherous footing, with no room to maneuver, and less to make a mistake. Suddenly, Alessia slipped on some loose rock and clawing frantically for something to hold on to and not finding it, slipped over the edge. Torin's heart stopped. His hand darted out and barely caught her wrist as he watched her pack fall away past her into the misty void below. The weight of her armored body nearly plucked him from the cliff, but he used all his strength to lean in, his eyes scrambling to find a better handhold in the wall to clutch.

"Hold on, Alessia!" Torin shouted, grimacing.

He shifted his grip on the cliff wall while she dangled. Torin grit his teeth, calling upon all his strength to try to pull her up. Then, the unthinkable came to pass. He felt his grasp begin to slip. She struggled frantically to reach up with her other hand and secure her tenuous hold on him, but her flailing only loosened his already failing grip. Suddenly, her thrashing stopped as the reality sunk in.

"Torin!" Alessia shouted. He looked down in panic. Her eyes caught his meaningfully and time seemed to stand still. "Save yourself! Save Martin!" she implored.

He understood the implication of her words. She wanted him to release her before he joined her in her fate. "NO! I won't let you go!" he roared as her fingers slid slowly down his arm. An idea occurred to him. There was but one chance. Using every ounce of strength he had, he brought his powerful arm behind him and swung her up to the ledge just as his hand lost its grip on her. She landed awkwardly on the ridge, but he instantly leaped behind her, pinning her to the wall, his body pressing into her to prevent her from falling. His strong hands rapidly found cracks in the rock face to secure them.

Alessia was trembling. Torin's heart was pounding wildly. He'd almost lost her! By the Gods, he'd almost lost her! He soothed her, his lips nestled against her ear. "It's alright. You're alright now. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you. I won't let you fall. Trust me…trust me. Try to calm down. We'll move again when you're calm," he said softly, reassuringly.

When she had finally gathered herself, he encouraged her, "It's only a few more feet to the top and then it's all flat wooded terrain the rest of the way, no more cliffs. You can do this. Just take a side step and I will do the same. We will edge along together, and I will always be here behind you protecting you," he promised.

She nodded. Step-by-step, they slowly moved together until they reached the landing and he pushed her forward onto it, then leaped after her, gathering her into his arms instinctually.

"I…I was afraid you were…Alessia…I thought...I could never let you go…" he whispered, his voice breaking.

Alessia pulled back slightly to meet his eyes shining hard with emotion. She swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.

He leaned in, resting his head against hers intimately, his relief only overshadowed by the surge of emotion coursing through him. With a will of their own, his lips moved slowly to hers, and he kissed her, losing himself in her.

For a long moment, she surrendered to it, unable to think but for the headiness of it, letting feeling wash over her. Abruptly, her senses returned to her and self-reproach overwhelmed her. "Nooo…," she said feebly at last, tearing her lips from his. Dazed and breathless, she pushed him away, intent on regaining control.

Torin was confused. He had thought… He had not imagined her response. Yet, he saw the shame in her face and misread its meaning. "Is…is it Martin, then?" he managed weakly, his heart in his throat.

"What?" Alessia said in complete confusion.

"I know you two are…close. If it is him you truly want, I will not stand in your way. I…want you to be happy. He is a good man and you will be good for him…" he said with aching heart, offering to step aside.

Alessia's jaw dropped in surprise and she cut him off. "You think…Martin and I…? He is like a brother to me! He is gentle and trusting…I have always taken care of him, looked after him, because he needed it. Even now, I worry he will not have the toughness he needs to make the hard decisions of an Emperor. We have never been…like **that**. Why would you think…?" she fumbled.

"I saw you together at Cloud Ruler Temple. I thought…the intimate way you were laughing and whispering and touching each other. I thought you were…I mean…you've known each other a long time. I thought…" he struggled.

"You fool, we were talking about **you**! He was encouraging me to…" she stopped, her anger rising now as she realized why she had been forced to fight him to come along...why the last three days had been so miserable. "Is **that** why you didn't want me to come with you? Why you have been so distant? Because you thought Martin and I were…? You blind, arrogant…have I not **thrown** myself at you?! And did it not occur to you to **ask** me?! You would **leave** me there and perhaps never to see me again because you were too proud to **ask** about Martin? I am not even worth risking your dignity?" she stammered furiously, her temper flaring at the thought.

"You are wrong! I…" he started, "I would risk **everything** for you! Alessia…I…I have never felt like this. It is new to me, this constant ache. It confuses me," he said emotionally. "You and Martin have been…and this morning I saw you in the alcove. Perhaps I am a jealous fool, but I cannot think when you are near. When I saw you together... I…I'm sorry…forgive me...Alessia…" he murmured, pulling her to him and kissing her passionately.

She wanted to stay angry, to feel her righteous indignation, but her resentment had flown. His desperate plea for her understanding had melted her anger. But in its place had risen the specter of guilt once more. She had to tell him what **she** had done. Now…before this went too far…before she gave in to her impulses. She disengaged herself from his embrace and turned away from him, her mind racing. This time was not of her choosing. She was not ready, yet she must find the words and delay no longer. She swallowed hard. For a long moment she said nothing.

Torin had released her reluctantly. "Alessia…" he said pleadingly, his eyes searching for some sign she shared his feeling. "I know we have only known each other a short time. But I cannot help what is in my heart," he said sincerely.

Alessia turned to face him halfheartedly.

Torin saw the anxious look on her face and feared the worst. "Do you…not feel the same?" he asked tentatively, his heart looming in his throat. He found himself dreading her answer, for her demeanor was not that of a woman in love. She looked pained, as though she knew she was going to hurt him. As a warrior, he knew no fear. But as a man…here, now…fear lurked in the recesses of his soul as he awaited her response.

She studied him for a moment, thinking this might be the last time he would feel for her. Knowing what she had done, that she had betrayed him, that she had yet to tell him the truth… She was grieved that he should voice his feelings before she had told him, before she could voice her own. Alessia took a deep breath. "You do not understand. There is something I must tell you…"

Torin scowled in bewilderment.

Suddenly, four figures in hoods appeared from the shadows of the wood bordering the plateau and fell on them. Mythic Dawn! And they had chosen their moment well.

But the startled pair recovered quickly, their instincts honed to react with the swiftness of deer in flight. Alessia had unleashed a throwing knife before the first man reached her, the point sailing true and burying itself in his chest. He fell face down in front of her, clutching his fatal wound. But the second was atop her then, and his sword knocked the drawn dagger from her hand. Alessia recognized a second swing would end her if she gave way, so she did the unexpected, and drawing her second knife charged him to close the space and prevent him from being able to strike or thrust with his lengthier weapon. Her dagger hilt caught the steel of his sword and she forced it aside, artfully maneuvering her weapon and preparing to drive home her trusted blade.

But the man realized her gambit and released his sword, grabbing her wrist.

She struggled with him for control of her dagger and finding his strength superior to her own, she traded power for agility, dropping suddenly, rolling backwards and letting her weight take her assailant with her. Her feet found his stomach and she kicked him away in one smooth motion, regaining her footing. She whirled to face the man and found his hood had fallen from his face when he hit the ground. And Alessia stopped dead in her tracks.

"You!" she whispered in shock, shaking her head in disbelief. No! It couldn't be…the Blade that had recruited her! Only he was clearly no Blade at all, but a Mythic Dawn assassin!

The "Blade" leaped to his feet and recovered his weapon even as Torin finished off the last of their assailants. He now stood alone against the two daunting adventurers, cursing himself for not bringing more men. He was done, and he knew it. But, he reminded himself, a much greater reward awaited him in Paradise. Perhaps he could still destroy one of them and curry favor with his Master. He pointed his sword at Torin and Alessia alternately and pondered his strategy.

As the three combatants eyed each other warily, Torin took a moment to catch his breath and gather his wits. He was astonished they had been attacked here in this desolate place he had so carefully routed for its apparent cleverness. Yet even here, the Mythic Dawn had found them. It was as though they had been anticipated. The question tumbled from his lips even as he thought it, "How…how did you know we would be here?"

The remaining assassin laughed sinisterly as he twirled his longsword before him in challenge. Perhaps he could sow the seeds of discontent in the ranks of the enemy if he could not defeat them. "Hahahaha! You blind fool! We have **friends** in Bruma…indeed, we have spies everywhere. Just ask your beautiful but traitorous companion here. Without her assistance, we should not have known of your travels these many weeks. Though I'm afraid we no longer have use for you, my dear, you have been invaluable to us and we thank you for all the information you so graciously provided us," he said to a still-stunned Alessia with a slight bow.

It was Torin's turn to be shocked. He felt as though he had been stabbed through the heart. Alessia…working with the Mythic Dawn?! No…he thought weakly. It is a lie, surely. He turned to her for a denial of this heinous accusation. But no denial was forthcoming. A look of horror seemed frozen to her face as she stared at the man. Oh Gods…she does not refute it. The guilt is written plain on her face, he lamented inwardly.

"Nooo…noo…" she managed at last, her distressed voice barely above a whisper. Alessia's eyes welled as she turned to Torin. The heartsick look on his features…that look of utter betrayal…nearly tore her apart. "It…it wasn't like that…Torin…you don't understand…" she stammered helplessly. The tears spilled over, streaking unchecked down her cheek.

He began to shake his head. This could not be happening. He had trusted her…more, he had… She could not be the enemy. Torin felt sick and weak with grief.

The assassin grinned at the discord he had wrought. Then he lunged toward the unsuspecting girl who even now faced this man she had deceived instead of the enemy before her. She had completely dropped her guard in her anguish. For that, she would pay the price. He swung at Alessia's head even as she struggled for words to explain her actions.

The loud clang of metal against metal rent the air as the man's weapon had not bit flesh, but clashed against another, greater sword. Torin had reacted at his sudden move, snapping out of his torment, and instinctively parrying the assassin's thrust, stopping the blade mere inches from Alessia's face.

She recoiled and Torin drove the blade to the ground. Then, with a quick riposte, he disarmed the man. "Monster!" Torin shouted in fury. He grabbed the man's tunic. "Tell me! Tell me everything! Who **are** you people?! What do you **want**?!" he roared. Then he stopped to collect himself, giving a barely perceptible nod towards Alessia. "And what part did **she** play in all this!? All of it, man, if you value your life," he added in a low, menacing tone.

The assassin only smiled. His precious ring. It was done. Even now, blessed deliverance coursed through his body.

The flecks of bloody spittle began to foam up at the edge of his adversary's grinning mouth and Torin realized too late his answers would not come from this man. He had poisoned himself.

"Ah…but I do not value my life…it is the life…beyond…in the service of the…" he struggled. Then his eyes grew wide and he seized. "…Masterrrrrr…" he exhaled with his dying breath.

Torin released the man in disgust and watched dispassionately as his body crumpled to the earth. He stood there for long moments staring at the corpse of the assassin, trying to fathom what had just happened. Then a cold rage enveloped him and he turned to face his betrayer. Alessia…**his** Alessia was in league with the enemy…the murderers of the Emperor. How could he have been so wrong about her? By the Nine! She would face his justice for what she had done! But he had to know why…before he acted he had to know why. He strode over to her forcefully, uncertain even as he walked what he intended to do.

Alessia had thought to prepare herself for his reaction before she told him. But she could not have prepared herself for the shock and the hurt in his eyes when he learned of her duplicity. She could not have prepared herself for the coldness she felt settle over him now…the anger she felt seething just beneath the surface of his deathly quiet façade. Alessia watched his advance through tear-filled eyes. Was it hate she saw in his now? Torin had discovered the truth before she could tell him. And that dreadful man…the man she thought was a Blade, had been the one to reveal her shameful secret, making it appear as though she were a willing accessory in all this. How could she ever explain it to him now? How could she ever make him believe in her again? She had stood rooted to the ground, in no small shock from the events that had played out before her. But now, as Torin approached her, her mind raced. She must find a way to reach him…to make him understand. Surely he… Her eyes widened as she saw his hand go to his own dagger and slowly withdraw it as he neared. Alessia's heart shriveled in her breast. But she made no move to match his. She drew herself up.

Torin stopped before her, dagger in hand. His jaw clenched in anger, his face contorted in pain. Yet he did not threaten. He wanted to speak, but found he could not. There were no words. Emotions swirled within his chest that he could not master, some he could not name. Hurt…confusion…anger.

All these Alessia read in his eyes. And he held the dagger. Yet he had not used it, betraying his uncertainty…revealing his inner conflict. She spoke at last, her voice trembling - not in fear, but in anguish. "Would you slay me, then?" she asked softly, "When you have only just kept me from the arms of death?"

Torin swallowed hard. "It was instinct…" he replied truthfully, though he knew the impression his words would give…that he would not have saved her if he had had time to think on it. And **that**, he knew, even **now**, was patently untrue. But, as if to punish her, he made no effort to correct that impression. And he could see his words struck home.

Alessia lowered her eyes dejectedly. "Then…it is your wish to see me dead? Even though you have not heard me speak in my own defense?" she asked quietly, unable to hide the hurt in her voice.

Something in her demeanor made him regret his words. Yet… "Do you **have** a defense? You did not deny the assassin's words even as I looked to you for such. Your face betrayed you even as you betrayed me. What defense can there **be**?" he asked bitterly, "I believed in you. I…" He stopped. He could not bring himself to say he loved her. The word was acid to his tongue now.

"I know…and I…there is so much to explain. I have wanted to tell you. I have sought the…the right time." She swallowed hard and wet her lips. Her mouth was dry with nervousness. He had to understand. He had to. Especially now. Now, when he had confessed feeling for her…when, for the first time in her life, she felt able to return such affection. "I…should have told you sooner. I wanted to…I just…needed to find the right words…so that you would understand," she stammered, her voice tinged with desperation.

"You…have been spying on me…for the Mythic Dawn? You do not seem a zealot. Why?" he managed past the lump that had risen in his throat, his voice barely above a whisper. Then he felt a surge of anger again, "For money?!"

"No! I did not…please…Torin, give me a chance to explain. It isn't what you think at all…" she pleaded. Then Alessia told him everything, unburdening her conscience. "I thought they were Blades…Torin, you must believe me," she finished.

He scowled and turned away uncertainly.

"And…I…did not know you then as I do now. They told me they suspected you of treachery…of possible involvement with the Emperor's death. When I realized they were wrong…that you were not the man they said you were, I told them I would no longer help them," she explained plaintively.

Torin turned back to her, eyeing her coldly. "And yet you did not tell **me**. You did not come to me with this information. You hid it from me as one who is guilty," he replied.

Alessia had no defense for that. She should have come to him sooner. "You are right. I should have. I…was trying to find a way to tell you. But…I…was afraid…afraid of what you would think…of what you would do. Perhaps you will not believe this, but I started to tell you but a short while ago when these assassins fell on us," she said earnestly. Torin's expression was impenetrable and she could not tell if he believed her or not. She continued in desperation. "I…I'm truly sorry. But when they came to me, I did not know what to do. They claimed to be Blades, and you…you would tell me nothing. You asked me to trust you without giving me anything to go on. They told me everything. They answered all my questions. You were secretive, withholding what you knew. What was I supposed to think? What was I supposed to do?" she entreated. "I did not know who to trust and I decided to cooperate until I could be sure of the truth. They did not ask me to harm you, only inform them of your movements…your intentions," she explained.

"And you did your job with exceptional precision, didn't you? Ranging above and beyond to secure your goal. You flirted and teased and tried to seduce me to get information to report back to them," he said savagely, his anger barely restrained. He was unable to control the anguish that wracked his soul. "You made me…" he stopped, unable to speak further.

"No! It wasn't like that…that was never my intent…my interest in you was not…" she pleaded. Then, in the midst of her passionate justification, righteous anger rose to the surface as the implication of his words became clear to her. In spite of her desire to win him over, she was compelled by her pride to defend her actions in that regard. "How can you think…I would not…I am no whore to sell myself for information!" Alessia shouted indignantly.

"And I should believe you now because you have always been so truthful with me. How am I to know what you would and wouldn't do? Clearly my previous assessment of you was sorely mistaken. There is much I would not have thought you would do. And yet…" Torin said sarcastically.

She said nothing. Her eyes welled. Truly, he seemed to detest her now.

"You could have destroyed the Empire! You could have gotten us all killed! I…trusted you," he said, his voice breaking. His eyes misted. Alessia wanted to cry.

"You asked me to trust **you** blindly once. I am asking the same of you now. Let me prove my loyalty to you," she said, grabbing his arm.

He pulled away. "I asked you to help me save your friend. I told you I could tell you no more to protect you from harm. It is not the same," he answered frostily, adding, "And when I did confide in you at last? Still, you revealed nothing to me of your collusion. A thousand chances had you to tell me…"

"Please, Torin, you **know** me. You know my heart. I have not lied to you about anything…" she started, intent on convincing him this was the only thing she had withheld from him.

So deep ran this betrayal from the woman he thought he loved, the only woman he had ever given his heart to, that he could not think straight for the bitter pit in his stomach. He laughed scornfully. "You have lied to me about **everything**! You have lied from the outset. Every day you did not tell me the truth of your treachery was a lie. How much of our time together has been a lie? An attempt to glean information from me? I will never know, will I? I will never know what was real and what was false," Torin railed bitterly. "I do not **know** you. I never did," he said wretchedly, his sorrow fairly suffocating him. He worked his jaw to regain his composure. And suddenly, with an almost frightening abruptness, his wrath was broken, and a veil of self-protective numbness dropped over him. Grief had closed him off. Misery had shut him down. Pain was replaced with deadness. He sheathed his dagger, knowing in his heart he could never have used it. But his mind was made up. He stepped over to what was left of her gear and grabbed it, tossing it to her. "You have destroyed my trust. I do not care where you go, but I will no longer have you at my side," he said, turning away.

His words cut her as no dagger ever could. Alessia felt panic rising. "Please, I beg you. I…made a mistake. Give me the opportunity to make it right," she pleaded.

Silence answered her petition.

"Is there nothing I can do? Nothing I can say to make you forgive me?" she asked weakly, already knowing the answer.

His heart was as a dull stone…heavy in his chest, overburdened by the leaden weight of its own unhappiness. "Leave me," he said softly, unable to look at her again.

She nodded. "'Tis a cruel punishment you mete out for my poor judgment. I thought I was doing the right thing when I helped those men. But I **knew** I was doing the right thing when I stopped helping them. Still, you are right. I **should** have told you sooner. But know you it was cowardice that sealed my lips, not treachery. I tell you truly now, Torin Grayrider, it was my fear of losing you which bought my silence these last weeks. For I…have come to care for you. But…I can see that my words come too late. I will honor your wishes. I will go. I need not wish you good fortune in your quest. For I have every faith that you will succeed. My one wish…my great hope…is that one day you will forgive me," Alessia said.

Her words struck him, and he began to doubt his judgment. Torin turned around to say more, but she was gone. She had granted **his** wish. She had left him…and the heart he thought turned to stone had broken all over again.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"Comes the Dawn"

Alessia had said she cared for him. Torin downed another mead, not yet so drunk he couldn't think…his goal every day since she had gone. He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe **her**. Twelve days after he had sent her away, he was still turning it over in his mind. Damn it! He had had time to think about it and had decided he had been too hard on her. But it had all happened so fast, so suddenly. He'd had no time to calm himself and think things through before he rashly sent her away. But finding out as he did, from the Mythic Dawn that she had worked with them…it had devastated him. Because he loved her. Yet, if he had been in the same position, he might have done the same thing…playing both parties until he knew the truth. And he had been anything but forthcoming with her at the beginning. His behavior did not exactly engender trust. Still, he had expected her to follow him because he told her to, because he knew **he** was trustworthy. But she did not know him then. Why **should** she trust him over these other men?

Alessia told him she had stopped spying for them after a few weeks…that she had never tried to seduce him for information. He took another swig. She had accused him of letting his pride come between them. He had with Martin, certainly. But now? If he could just let himself believe in her again.

He had always been a loner. Trust did not come easy to him. He had taken care of himself most of his life and found it easier and safer to rely on himself than others. Everyone had their own agenda, their own plan. More often than not, people slanted things their way to achieve their own goals and he had learned not to trust them. But he **had** let himself trust her…not with planned intent, but it had happened all the same. And she had let him down in a most grievous manner. That was what was really eating at him. That he had given a woman the precious gift of his trust…trust that he did not give out freely… and she had abused it. And it had cost her his belief in her. He thought of the Razor he carried with him always. **His** mistake. How he longed to put it behind him…to set his past aside. Was that really so much to ask? Was **she** really asking so much? He believed she genuinely regretted what she had done. And he knew much about regret…how it slowly ate away at a man.

He felt the blissful call of sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids. Thank the Gods! Soon he would know the mercy of nothingness. The mead had done the job yet again. He laid his head on the table. He would not lie awake **this** night thinking of her.

Torin awoke the next morning still face down on the table in the Leyawiin pub where he had fallen asleep. The staff let the "Hero of Kvatch" sleep it off. He had earned more, but it was the least they could do. He seemed distraught, and they had left him to his devices. He dragged himself up and shook off the cobwebs, thinking, as he had the last few mornings, he would have to stop doing this. His head hurt…again…and yet it gave him something else to center on besides **her**. Truly, he preferred the physical pain in his head to the one in his heart. He stepped outside and shielded his eyes. The sun was a third of the way up in the sky. He headed for the Great Chapel of Zenithar to run down a lead on the Amulet. Several Brothers of the Nine approached him chanting. They nodded as they glided toward him. Torin absent-mindedly returned the gesture. But as they passed, he noticed that one of the men was wearing boots…armored mithril boots. He turned in time to see the glint of sunlight on steel as the blade of a dagger descended on him. He raised his arm to oppose it, blocking the brunt of the attack, but not before it gashed his shoulder. An arrow whizzed past his head, then another. His attacker fell dead, both arrows finding their mark. Arrow after arrow zipped past him, downing the other three men as they drew swords. Torin had drawn his blade and whirled to see where his assistance was coming from. Alessia was sprinting towards him, bow drawn and firing as she took down two more assassins closing in. He was mesmerized. She looked a vision racing towards him, a beautiful, vengeful goddess of war, mowing down the enemy. When she was within a few steps of him, she threw down her bow, and in a single fluid motion she had whipped out two throwing knives that shot past him into another assailant and drawn her daggers. She was spectacular!

"Behind you!" Alessia shouted, vaulting past him gracefully into two assassins, knives flashing wildly. He snapped out of it and leaped into the fray, engaging the other cultists who had joined the attack. By the time the dust had settled, twelve cultists lay dead in the city square. Alessia had taken out eight of them.

She approached him sheepishly. "Your shoulder…you're hurt. Let me see it…" she said compassionately, touching his arm gingerly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in genuine surprise, "I thought…you'd gone."

Alessia's face fell in disappointment at his words.

"I…I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you…for saving my life," Torin added quickly. He had not meant it to sound like an indictment. They had caught him off-guard, he thought ruefully. Too much mead and his mind focused on her instead of the task at hand. It almost cost him his life. If she had not been there…

She relaxed slightly at his apology and glanced again at his arm. "It's not too deep. But I should clean it, nonetheless, and it should be stitched," she said when she had finished examining the cut.

"Alessia…" Torin started.

"Do not be angry," she implored, gazing at him disarmingly, "I…followed you. I thought you might need my help…" Her emerald eyes locked on his, mischievously daring him to tell her otherwise, in the wake of the events that had just transpired.

He laughed then. "It would appear **you** did not need **my** help," he said diplomatically. "Perhaps **you** should be the one undertaking this quest and **I** should tag along to provide some small assistance," he jested.

She allowed herself a small smile.

He rifled quickly through the possessions of the assailants he suspected to be Mythic Dawn agents, trying to find a clue to their purpose. One of the men had a book, "Mythic Dawn Commentaries Vol. 1", which seemed to be about this strange cult. But it was cryptic in nature and seemed to have meaning only to one who could understand it…one who was **intended** to read it, not Torin Grayrider, a common adventurer. The one thing that concerned him greatly was the repeated mention of Mehrunes Dagon. If these men were followers of Dagon, then Cyrodiil, and indeed, all of Tamriel, was in grave danger. It occurred to him suddenly where they might go to find an answer…the Arcane University in Imperial City, the great instructional facility of the Mages Guild. He had long ago earned the right of entrance, by receiving recommendations from each of the local Guild chapter heads for services rendered. There were many scholars there, and some were experts on Daedric cults. At last, perhaps, he could find out more about this Mythic Dawn.

"Come," Torin said glancing around, taking her by the arm, "We had better get out of here before more of them arrive to assist their incompetent brethren." He took her back to his room to gather his things. He felt it unwise to stay in Leyawiin any longer in light of this attack.

"Your arm…" she said haltingly when he had grabbed his gear and made to leave.

Torin looked down at the gash. He could have healed it himself had he been concerned. "It is nothing," he said, dismissing it, "We should go."

"Please. Let me tend the wound. It will take but a few moments," Alessia requested, her gaze pleading.

Torin eyed her a moment, his demeanor softening. "Very well," he answered quietly. He sat down on the edge of the bed while she gathered the supplies to clean and stitch his wound, watching her lithe figure glide about, his heart pounding. Gods, he was glad to see her again! He studied her beautiful face while her nimble fingers tenderly dressed the wound and wrapped it.

"You know I can heal it myself magically," he said logically.

She continued her intricate work, not looking up at him. "Yes, and leave a scar. Your magic is broad strokes. This requires a more refined and delicate approach," she stated firmly.

Torin looked at her questioningly. "And I thought that women found scars sensual on a man," he said playfully.

Alessia smiled slightly. "They are…" she said, absently touching the scar on his jaw, before realizing herself and pulling her hand back quickly, "…but in small quantities," she finished.

Torin laughed heartily. "You should see the rest of me!" he quipped.

There was an awkward silence as they both contemplated the implication of his words and the history between them. She had seen enough of him in the time they had travelled together to know he bore other old wounds, but the scars did not bother her. She considered them badges of his courage.

"I have seen enough to know your bravery," she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

The impulse to kiss her welled up in him. But he allowed himself to think of her betrayal and he buried the urge as fast as it had surfaced.

She felt his eyes on her. It gave her hope for the first time in almost two weeks. He did not seem angry like before. Perhaps time would help him heal…would help him forgive.

"You said…you were going to tell me. That night we were attacked…when I kissed you. You started to tell me then. Why?" Torin asked her quietly at last.

Alessia looked up. "What?"

"I have thought much on it, and it vexes me. Why would you tell me? You didn't have to. You were home free. I would never have known. You must have realized what my reaction would be when you told me. Why would you tell me at all?" he asked earnestly.

Her lips parted and she looked at him so intensely he felt it run all the way through him. "I always intended to tell you. It was a lie between us. We could not build something as long as it stood. I had to tell you...and hope you could find it in your heart to understand," she said emotionally.

"You picked a strange time for your confession. When I had told you how I felt…" Torin said softly.

She smiled, as though he were a silly boy, "**Because** you spoke of your feeling…words I was not yet free to say…words I had no right to say until the truth was out. I could not put it off on any longer. Whatever the consequence to me, you deserved to know the truth," she said sincerely.

He swallowed hard. "If I tell you to go back to Cheydinhal and pretend you never got mixed up in this…"

"I will follow you and help you as I can from a distance until it is done and Martin is safely on the throne," she said cutting him off.

Torin's eyebrows rose.

"But it would be a thousand times easier if you would let me travel at your side once more, where I could be of faster assistance," Alessia said sheepishly, her voice a request.

He took a deep breath. She was a remarkably stubborn woman…and quite simply, remarkable. And perhaps, as he had seen today, he **could** use her help. "You have proven helpful today, certainly. Very well. Until Martin is on the throne," Torin said.

Alessia smiled her gratitude and nodded. "Until Martin is on the throne," she returned. "Thank you," she added softly, a wave of relief washing over her.

"And you will tell me the truth in all things," he ordered, eyeing her closely.

"In everything. No falsehood shall approach my lips," she promised sincerely.

"And you must do as I say," he admonished slyly, testing her.

She opened her mouth to argue, but seeing the stern look on his face thought better of it.

The corner of his mouth fought back a smile to see her squirm so. Her independent nature was being challenged and she was struggling. But she made no immediate argument. He thought he had won the day.

But he was sorely mistaken.

"I promise to tell you the truth when you are being a stubborn fool and we should not be doing something. Then I vow to be honest with you about what we **should** be doing," she added under her breath mischievously.

His mouth fell open.

She smiled sweetly and innocently, added "Milord," and curtsied.

He could not help but laugh.

His laughter warmed her heart. She gave him a dazzling smile.

They gazed at each other for a few moments, the air crackling with sexual tension. It was all Torin could do not to take her in his arms. But that was the physical need in him. He had agreed to let her travel at his side again, to let her help him in this most important of missions. But his trust did not extend to welcoming her back into his heart. He could not restore her to that place of honor, for it remained stubbornly closed off, his faith badly damaged. He felt the walls rising again and broke the spell, seizing his pack. "Let's go. We have much to do," he said seriously.

A disappointed Alessia watched him march out the door. For a moment, she had thought he might kiss her. Then she saw a shadow fall over his face, as though he had remembered why he was angry with her. But the moment had been there. She had seen it in his eyes. It would take time, but she would win him back. She would earn back his trust, and he would take her back. Alessia followed him out into the balmy spring day. The sun felt warmer to her, more welcoming. She had a chance now, and she intended to make the most of it.

* * *

They headed to the Arcane University in Imperial city to ask about this Mythic Dawn cult, to see what the book meant. Torin approached an Argonian named Tar-Meena who was said to be very knowledgeable about Daedric cults, identifying himself as a Blade.

"Can you tell me about the Mythic Dawn?" Torin asked.

"You know of them?" Tar-Meena asked incredulously. Few did. This human intrigued her now. "One of the most secretive of all the Daedric cults. Not much is known about them. They are worshippers of Mehrunes Dagon, and follow the teachings of Mankar Camoran, whom they call the Master. A shadowy figure in his own right."

When Torin heard this, it sent chills down his spine as he recalled the dying gasp of the Mythic Dawn agent on the cliff…final supplication to his Master. So he was right…the Mythic Dawn were a secret cult of Mehrunes Dagon worshippers. He instinctively tightened his grip on the pack that held the Razor. Dagon…hated nemesis.

"I found one of their books," Torin said simply, keeping his knowledge close to the vest.

"Ah yes. 'Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes'. Wonderful!" the Argonian exclaimed, marveling at the book in an academic reverie.

"What is this Mysterium Xarxes?" Torin asked in confusion.

"Yes, forgive me. I am excited. It is the holy book of the Mythic Dawn. Supposedly written by Mehrunes Dagon himself. If it exists, it would be an artifact of great – and evil – power. You have a scholarly interest in Daedric cults, then?" Tar-Meena asked.

"I need to find the Mythic Dawn," Torin said, limiting the information he was willing to divulge.

"Find them, eh? I won't poke my nose any further. Official business and all that. I'm used to working with the Blades, don't worry. Say no more. In any case, finding them won't be easy. I've studied Mankar Camoran's writings a bit myself, at least those that I could find. The 'Commentaries' are contemporary with Tiber Septim, over 400 years ago. So Camoran **himself** is unlikely to still be alive, although you never know. It is clear from the text that the 'Commentaries' come in four volumes, but I've only ever seen the first two books. I believe that his writings contain hidden clues to the location of the Mythic Dawn's secret shrine dedicated to Mehrunes Dagon. Those who unlock this hidden path have proven themselves worthy to join the ranks of the cult. Finding the shrines is but the first test. But to do it, you'll need all four volumes of the 'Commentaries.'"

Four volumes, each one rarer than the last. She had the second volume which she loaned him, and she put him on the trail of a bookseller who might have the third. But the fourth book in the series was very rare, indeed, and she knew not where to find one. The books were coded somehow, useless drivel separately, but Tar-Meena believed that together…deciphered…they would provide information on the whereabouts of the cult's secret shrine to the Lord of Destruction…and perhaps the Amulet of Kings, Torin thought. They needed to track down those other two books.

The bookseller Phintias did have the third volume, but was holding it for an elf claiming to be a scholar and collector named Gwinas, who was travelling a great distance for it…all the way from Valenwood. Torin convinced the greedy bookstore owner to part with the book for some extra gold and waited for the arrival of Gwinas. He was anxious to learn what Gwinas knew of the Mythic Dawn…and of the books.

As it turned out, the frightened Gwinas was only too happy to cooperate with Torin and Alessia when he learned that the Mythic Dawn was behind the assassination of the Emperor. He was terrified and wanted nothing more to do with the cult or their books. He revealed that Volume Four of the 'Commentaries' was so difficult to find because it could only be given to members of the inner circle…a member of the Mythic Dawn had to give one away. The squat elf had arranged a meeting with one such member, whom he called "The Sponsor", in the Sewers below Imperial City. He was going to be given a copy to further his study. Gwinas told them that they had never met, and that this Sponsor did not even know his race. Alessia and Torin looked at each other and nodded. They would make that meeting instead.

The Sponsor turned out to be one Raven Camoran. The name was not lost on Torin…a descendant of Mankar, no doubt.

"So. You want to become one of the Chosen of Mehrunes Dagon. The Path of Dawn is difficult. But the rewards are great. I have the book you seek. With it and the Master's three other books you will possess the key to enlightenment. But do you have the wit and strength to use the key that you have been given? If so, I will see you next at Dagon's Shrine. Yes, I think you may..." Camoran said mysteriously.

"Hold! You there!" a shout rose up.

The meeting went south quickly. Alessia was hiding, waiting until Torin had the book in his possession to strike, but she was spotted by a cultist. A battle ensued, but mercifully, they were able to recover the fourth volume of the manifest. Torin was angry the cultists, and Raven in particular, were all killed before he could interrogate them, but he supposed the fanatics would have revealed nothing anyway. He swore silently and they made their way back to Tar-Meena. She was delighted with his success…a rare chance for her to study a Daedric cult tome in its entirety.

"It is a fairly common practice of these kinds of esoteric cults to put hidden messages within their sacred writings. In effect, simply by finding their way to the shrine, prospective members have already passed the first test on the road to 'enlightenment.' You've piqued my curiosity about this puzzle. I will think on it and let you know if I have any ideas," Tar-Meena said, her nose buried in the elusive and coveted fourth volume. She bade them give her time to study it and come back.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

"Mythic Dawn is Breaking"

They returned to Tar-Meena after a few days, anxious to see what she had uncovered. Rumors were spreading that Oblivion Gates had started appearing all over Cyrodiil. Things were escalating. They had to find the Amulet.

Tar-Meena had determined that there was a hidden message in the text. "Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Midday Sun." Green Emperor Way was the name of a path in the gardens of the Imperial Palace. They were there at noon to see the sun reveal a hidden drawing on a crypt…a map showing the way to the Shrine of Dagon. At last, they had a direction. They set out for Lake Arrius Caverns and the Amulet of Kings.

* * *

A man in the trademark red robes of the Mythic Dawn approached them suspiciously when they entered the torchlit caverns. "Dawn is breaking," he said cautiously, eyeing them both with distrust.

"Greet the new day," Torin answered, bowing slightly.

The acolyte relaxed slightly. "You are not alone…initiates must come alone. The Sponsor invites one at a time…" he started, irritation and uncertainty in his voice.

Torin swore to himself silently. He had wanted to come in alone, but Alessia had insisted she accompany him into the shrine. There were too many for even him, she insisted. She was right, of course, but he had been willing to risk it to infiltrate the cult. Alessia would have none of it, and they entered together, intending to use the story Alessia had come up with that they were a married couple with intent to join together. Torin had hoped they would not be questioned.

"Ah yes, but my…" Torin hesitated imperceptibly. "…sister and I are of like mind on this. She is devoted to Dagon as I am. We would both offer ourselves to his cause. Surely you need as many converts as you can get?" he finished amicably.

Alessia winced at his description of her as his sister. He could not even pretend she was his wife. But now was not the time to dwell on it and she buried the hurt.

The guard nodded slowly at his wisdom. "It is so. Welcome, brother. Welcome, sister. The hour is late, but the Master still has need for willing hands. You may pass into the Shrine. Harrow will take you to the Master for your initiation into the service of Lord Dagon. Do not tarry. We have been preparing for the coming of Lord Dagon for many years. The Master has promised us that the time of Preparation is almost over. The time of Cleansing is near," he said bowing, and ushering them through the Gate to another man.

"I am Harrow, Warden of the Shrine of Dagon. By following the Path of Dawn hidden in the writings of the Master, Mankar Camoran, you have earned a place among the Chosen. You have arrived at an opportune time. You may have the honor to be initiated into the Order by the Master himself," the man said proudly.

Torin and Alessia exchanged startled glances. Mankar Camoran alive?! After 400 years?!

"As a member of the Order of the Mythic Dawn, everything you need will be provided for you from the Master's bounty. Give me your possessions, and put on this initiate's robe," Harrow finished.

Torin tensed. He had not expected to lose his gear…at least not this early in the gambit. They could not afford to give up their equipment in the midst of so many enemies. He glanced at Alessia.

She understood. So much for their attempt to infiltrate stealthily.

"No, I don't think so," he said quietly.

Harrow became alarmed. "It is expected…a sign of your devotion, your trust. I ask you again, turn over your belongings," he ordered, backing away slowly.

"I suppose we're just not devoted enough," Torin said, drawing his sword. Within seconds, the two Mythic Dawn agents at the mouth of the cave were dead. They navigated through the tunnels as quickly and quietly as they could, dispatching assailants as they went, trying to reach the shrine itself and reclaim the Amulet.

Torin's mind raced as he ran. Harrow had said they might be initiated into the order by Camoran himself?! Was that possible? That would make him hundreds of years old! If somehow he still lived, then they had a chance to destroy this cult by cutting off the head of the leader. He quickened his pace.

They came into the Shrine Antechamber unseen, and perched on a ledge overlooking the center pulpit where a man was preaching to a group of Mythic dawn novitiates. Was this the dreaded Mankar Camoran?

"The Dragon Throne is empty, and we hold the Amulet of Kings! Praise be to your Brothers and Sisters! Great shall be their reward in Paradise! Hear now the words of Lord Dagon: When I walk the earth again, the Faithful among you shall receive your reward: to be set above all other Mortals forever. As for the rest: the weak shall be winnowed; the timid shall be cast down; the mighty shall tremble at my feet and pray for pardon," he shouted zealously. His deep voice echoed in the cavern, giving it a surreal grandiosity.

"So sayeth Lord Dagon. Praise be," chanted the red-robed followers.

"Your reward, Brothers and Sisters! The time of Cleansing draws nigh. I go now to Paradise. I shall return with Lord Dagon at the coming of the Dawn!" Camoran raved, his eyes alight with madness. Then a great yellow ball of light appeared next to him. He stepped into it and disappeared. The light instantly imploded on itself and he was gone.

Torin swore to himself. They had lost their opportunity. But he soon realized there was a more immediate concern, for in that blinding light, Torin and Alessia were discovered, and they leaped down into the pit amidst the uproar of calls to arms. The Mythic Dawn novices were taken by surprise and, having given up their own equipment in their devotion to their Master, were no match for the adventurers.

The high priestess that soon lay dead at the altar turned out to be Ruma Camoran. Another Camoran! They were like maggots, surfacing everywhere, Torin though in irritation. He glanced up and saw a book on the altar, placed almost reverently there. He stepped up for a closer inspection. The "Mysterium Xarxes"! Surely this would give them some insight on how to find the Amulet. He grabbed it to take back to Martin for study.

"Torin! Over here!" Alessia called out.

He ran to her side as she was freeing an Argonian prisoner strapped to the altar. He was clearly meant to be a sacrifice to Dagon. "Where am I? What is this place? Arkay preserve me, I remember now. Hooded men grabbed me as I was leaving the Temple... We must get out of here! Come on!" he urged.

They followed him through the winding tunnels, grateful he knew a way out that provided less resistance. When they had cleared the cavern, the Argonian turned to them and said, "I am Jeelius, a priest in the Temple of the One in the Imperial City. I am grateful you have given me back my life. Perhaps our paths will cross again one day, and I shall be able to return the favor," he said appreciatively. Then he ran off, unwilling to risk the surviving Mythic Dawn members getting their hands on him again.

Torin and Alessia returned to Cloud Ruler Temple with the news of their failure to recover the Amulet and the hope that the recovery of the "Mysterium Xarxes" might still mean they had a chance.

"Ah, you're back! I told Jauffre not to worry…" Martin said hugging Alessia and clapping Torin on the shoulder. The somber look on their faces did not bode well, he thought. "I can see you have bad news. You didn't recover the Amulet, did you?" he asked quietly.

"No. But I have the Mysterium Xarxes," Torin said hopefully.

"By the Nine! Such a thing is dangerous even to handle!" Martin fairly shouted. Then he calmed himself. "Forgive me. You were right to bring it. But you'd better give it to me. I know some ways to protect myself from its evil power," Martin said. Then he realized both their eyes were on him, Torin's scowling and Alessia's questioning. He bowed his head in shame. Unable to look at Alessia, he proffered a confession. "As a young man, I grew impatient with Mages Guild restrictions, as did many of my fellow apprentices. We threw ourselves into the riddles of Daedric magic. We hungered for forbidden secrets. Knowledge and power were our gods. You can guess the rest. We got in over our heads. And…people died. My **friends** died. I…have put those days behind me. But the bitter wisdom that one has been a fool is not without value. I…put aside the dark arts when I became a priest. But the workings of fate may be seen in this, too. 'The gods can turn anything to good', or so I piously told those who came to see me for advice. Perhaps I may yet come to believe it myself," he said, taking the book and leaving it at that.

Torin felt a chill of familiarity as his new Emperor admitted to his youthful failings…to being seduced by the power of the Daedra. It was not for him to judge…not when his own past was so unclean.

Alessia was stunned. She looked at Martin, who finally lifted his downcast eyes to hers.

"I…you are disappointed in me, I know. I have failed in your eyes, and for that I am deeply grieved. Always have I wished for your respect. Have I lost it forever, then?" he asked Alessia, heartbroken to have let her down.

She sighed and shook her head. "Never could you be anything but my Martin, you must know that. I am merely surprised to find that you are human after all," she said, an understanding smile on her face.

Martin returned her smile sheepishly.

"I know the goodness in you. I would be a poor friend, indeed, if I did not allow you human failing. And I am hardly one to condemn, for I have surely made my share of mistakes," she added, casting a quick glance at Torin.

Torin quickly changed the subject. "What do you know about the Mysterium Xarxes? Can it lead us to Camoran?" Torin asked.

Martin looked at him absently, considering the question. "This evil book was written by Mehrunes Dagon himself, and given by him to Mankar Camoran. I believe he used it to create his immortal realm…his Paradise. I suspect that the secret of how to open a portal to his plane lies within these pages. As to whether it can lead us to Camoran, I don't know. Maybe. I will continue studying it, but I will need time. Tampering with dark secrets, even just reading them, can be very dangerous. I'll have to proceed carefully. In the meantime, you should speak to Jauffre. He was concerned about reports of spies in Bruma," he said.

Alessia and Torin exchanged uncomfortable glances. The false Blade had told them as much.

"I hope to have at least part of the Mysterium Xarxes translated in a few days," the new Emperor continued, already absorbed in the book.

* * *

They caught and killed the clumsy spies with relative ease and a search of the home of one of them, turned up valuable intelligence. They discovered the plans for the next step in Camoran's campaign, orders from Ruma Camoran to Jearl, an agent in Bruma and one of the spies they had killed:

_Jearl –_

_The Master was pleased to hear of your activities outside of Chorrol. The more Gates that we open, the nearer we are to the glorious Cleansing._

_The Master has chosen you and Saveri for a most crucial mission, a sign of your advancement through the ranks of the Chosen. We have learned that the Septim heir has gone to ground at Cloud Ruler Temple, the lair of the accursed Blades. The Master has made its destruction the top priority of the Order, and Lord Dagon has committed whatever resources are required._

_Pending your report on the Septim's activities at Cloud Ruler Temple, and your assessment of Temple defenses and possible routes of escape, we plan to open a Great Gate in the open ground before Bruma as soon as possible._

_Remember: the first three Lesser Gates represent only the preliminary stages of Great Gate Deployment. Do not in any way compromise your cover in defense of these Gates. New ones can be quickly and easily reopened. And once the Great Gate is opened, the fall of Bruma is assured. Cloud Ruler Temple cannot stand long after that, and the Septim will be caught like a rat in a trap._

_We would welcome any further details you can offer concerning the Imperial agent who rescued Septim from Kvatch, but again, we caution you... do not risk a confrontation. This individual is not to be trifled with._

_The Dawn is breaking,_

_Ruma Camoran_

Alessia slumped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. "This is my fault. I have given them Martin…" she lamented.

Torin watched her for a moment before responding. "No. You would not give them Martin. I doubt **you** led them here. I suspect they have many sources of information, and whatever you told them but a small portion," he said quietly.

She looked up at him then in surprise, grateful he would try to remove her burden of guilt, given the circumstance. "It is true I told them nothing of Martin, so they must have gleaned that from elsewhere. Yet…I helped them…contributed to their pool of knowledge. And I shall be saddled with that hateful awareness the rest of my life," she said sadly.

He studied her stricken face a moment. "You aided them in ignorance. Your motivation was honest, your intentions just. It is not a weight you should carry. The Mythic Dawn is widespread in its influence, it seems. They would have found other ways if you had not fallen victim to their scheme. Hold yourself accountable only for that which you **knew** was wrong…that which you **could** control," Torin replied evenly.

She knew he was speaking of **his** dealings with her…the fact that she had kept it from him. She was still uncertain how much of what she had told him he believed. It seemed he had forgiven her for her ill-advised involvement with these Mythic Dawn pretenders, but not for her dishonesty with him. Perhaps if they spoke of it again… "Torin…" she started, rising and moving to him.

"Come. It is clear that Mankar Camoran would soon bring all his power to bear against Bruma. We must find the answer, and quickly," he said, cutting off that which she would have said. Then he turned, and strode from the room.

Alessia watched him go. Then she sighed heavily and fell in behind him.


	9. Chapter 9

9.

"The Keys to the Kingdom, Part 1: A Simple Daedric Artifact"

Martin had deciphered more of the dread tome. "I've learned that the Mysterium Xarxes is both the gate and the key to Camoran's Paradise. Mankar Camoran bound himself to the Xarxes when he created his world, using dark rituals which I will not speak of further. A gate can be opened from the outside, however. It will be more difficult, as I will have to temporarily bind myself to the book. But I believe it can be done. The Xarxes mentions four items needed for the ritual to open a portal, but so far I have only deciphered one of them: the 'blood of a Daedra Lord'. It is a little known fact that Daedric artifacts are formed from the essence of a Daedric Lord, from whence they derive their great power. Not an easy thing to come by, obviously, but we will need one. The only way I can think of to obtain such a relic is through the cults devoted to each of the Daedric Lords. Seek out the shrines of the Daedra," Martin advised, "And I will continue working to decipher the rest of arcane items needed for the binding ceremony."

* * *

They had been to three shrines. Each time a Daedric Prince had demanded Torin perform some heinous task to earn his prize. Each time he had refused, his conscience wracked with indecision. He had to have the artifact, yet what monstrous act must he do to get it? Surely they would not all demand such hateful, horrific tribute. Hermaeus Mora wanted the souls of ten innocents. Torin would not give them. Mephala the Webspinner demanded treachery, lies, and murder. He refused. Molag Bal desired the corruption of a once great Paladin knight. Torin put his head in his hands in despair. He would keep trying until he found a task that he could bear to live with the rest of his life.

Alessia felt for him. It was hard to believe she had ever doubted the intentions of this man, that she had ever questioned his honor…his decency. He was the finest man she had ever known. He had even eclipsed Martin in her eyes. Of course, she was not in love with Martin. But she knew this Torin Grayrider was special beyond reckoning. She wanted to go to him now…to comfort him, but she dare not. "It…will be alright. We will win a Daedric artifact that will not cost our souls. We must keep searching. Do not give up hope," she said gently.

Torin looked up. Her eyes were filled with sincerity, with compassion. He nodded gratefully. "You are right, Alessia. Thank you," he returned.

She nodded, an encouraging smile on her face, and retired to her tent.

He felt better. She had lifted him up. He pulled out Mehrunes' Razor and looked at it again with disgust, his own torturous ritual. He should have offered the monstrous weapon up as the Daedric artifact they needed. But that would mean revealing that he had carried it all along…that he knew what it was. And the question of how he had gotten it would arise. Alessia would know. Even now, when they were not together, he could not bear her judgment. No, he thought guiltily. It must be a last resort. He put it away and went to his own tent to try to sleep.

* * *

They came to Boethiah's Shrine nestled in the Valus Mountains on some information gained from an orc in Cheydinhal. Boethiah demanded nothing more than Torin risk his own life in a tournament of champions, the "Tournament of Ten Bloods". He had only to step through a portal into the Oblivion plane of Attribution's Share, the home of Boethiah, and defeat them all, one at a time, to earn the Daedric artifact he so desperately needed. Hunh! Torin laughed to himself sardonically, I **only** have to defeat ten champions. He turned to Alessia and nodded. **This** challenge he would accept.

She took a deep breath, trying to ward off her fear for him. She nodded back her assent. As he started to enter the portal, Alessia grabbed his arm. "Be careful," was all she managed.

He half-smiled and stepped through the portal into a realm characterized by twisted towers and immense maze gardens…Boethiah's domain. He marched down a strange gated road until he heard a low ethereal voice, "Welcome mortal. Challenge my Ten Bloods and become my new champion. Earn my good will and I shall reward you with my favored sword." Boethiah. Vicious Daedra Prince. Lord of lies, treason, and murder. Torin shuddered. He hated having anything to do with the foul monster, but it was necessary, he told himself. The giant gate in front of him slowly swung open and he advanced toward his first opponent, shield raised and sword drawn.

It seemed an eternity before he returned, none the worse for wear. Alessia breathed a sigh of relief.

Torin smiled at her worried face, dusting himself off as though it had been a mere scuffle with rats. Alessia laughed. He really was invincible, her Grayrider, she thought proudly.

Boethiah had proclaimed Torin the victor and awarded him the Daedric artifact "Goldbrand", a sword that spewed intense flames as it struck. It was far superior to his fire-enchanted shortsword, and in his younger years, he would have marveled at such a weapon. But he had learned from his mistakes. The Razor had taught him hard lessons. He would be glad to be rid of the reward of another Daedric Prince. He wanted no part of it.

* * *

"The Mysterium Xarxes ritual will consume the weapon's physical form in order to release its Daedric power. It will not be seen again in this realm," Martin said as he took "Goldbrand" from Torin's hands. "I won't ask what you went through to obtain this, my friend. I know all too well the depravity of the princes of Oblivion," he added understandingly.

At that moment, Jauffre burst into the Great Hall of Cloud Ruler Temple breathlessly. "I've just received word from the Countess of Bruma that an Oblivion Gate has opened outside the city. It seems that the Mythic Dawn is putting its plan to attack Bruma into motion. Since you've dealt with these Gates before, will you help the Countess's guard close this Gate? Once they've seen how it's done, they should be able to handle any new Gates on their own," he said.

Torin and Alessia raced down to Bruma and entered the Gate, and with the help of Captain Burd and his men, sealed it quickly. The guards assured them they could handle any other lesser Gates that sprang up.

Jauffre greeted them on their return, "Good work. Captain Burd and his guardsmen should be able to handle any additional Gates, at least for now. But the Bruma Guard cannot defend the city indefinitely. The Daedra of Oblivion are innumerable: the guardsmen of Bruma are not. We need to gather what allies we can before Bruma is hopelessly besieged. If the Mythic Dawn manages to open a Great Gate here, the city will need a stronger garrison for there to be any hope of defending it. You should speak to the rulers of the other cities of Cyrodiil, as well as the Elder Council. Ask them to send aid to Bruma before it is too late," he ordered.

Torin agreed. "We will leave first thing in the morning," he said.

* * *

Boethiah was livid that Torin had spurned the title of Tournament Champion and would not defend it, instead choosing to accept the vaunted weapon bestowed on him and immediately destroy it to gain access to his Daedric brother, Mehrunes Dagon. He had no love for the master of the Deadlands realm, but he had no desire to be used in a plan to destroy him either. And this…theft of "Goldbrand" with intent to banish it forever was an affront to the Daedric Lord. Boethiah did not like being manipulated. That was **his** purview. He would not let this insult pass. He would think on it and when he had a sufficient plan, this mortal would regret ever crossing paths with him. He was Boethiah, Daedric lord of deceit, conspiracy, and the secret plots of murder and treason…and he was not to be trifled with.

* * *

Alessia stood on the watchtower of the Temple, alone. She had come up here to get away from the others, to find privacy where there was none. She did not want Torin to see how much their journey into Oblivion had shaken her. She had not accompanied him into the breach at Kvatch and had not realized how truly horrible it was. He had clearly left out much in his description of it, no doubt to spare her sensibilities. She was not frightened by it, but rather disturbed...and overwhelmed. How could they hope to defeat the cruel Lord of such a realm where monsters roamed freely and the smell of death lurked in the air? Where blood and rent flesh were as much a part of the landscape as the lava seas surrounding it? For the first time since this had started…since she understood the stakes…she knew the fear of failure. The Mythic Dawn had not daunted her. No mortal plot could. But this was an immortal…a gruesome and powerful demon from the plane of Oblivion whose sole desire was to destroy their insignificant world. How could they combat **that**? She shivered, as much from the thought of what lay ahead as from the cool night air.

She heard the door open behind her and glanced back over her shoulder. Torin had found her.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked softly.

Alessia turned back to the mountains that surrounded the Temple. She shivered again. "Oblivion…it is such a hellish place. I tried to envision it from your description at Kvatch, but nothing could prepare me for the nightmare that it truly is…" she said, shivering again. The temperature was dropping. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill.

He had thought as much. She had been silent for much of the time since they returned from that dreadful plane. She was unnerved. He had seen it. She wasn't afraid, he knew. She was the most courageous woman he had ever met. But she was distressed by it. When she had disappeared after dinner, he had gone after her to ease her discomfort. "I know," he said. He came up behind her, removing his cloak, and wrapping it around her to warm her shivering body. He rubbed her arms gently to increase the circulation. "It is a terrible place with terrible beings. But we **can** defeat them. We **have** defeated them on their own soil. We just need to come up with a plan of action that will work. They will not win this, Less, I swear it," he vowed.

She smiled. He had not called her that familiarization since he had discovered her duplicity. She sighed and leaned back into him intimately, resting her head against his. He did not recoil. Her heart leapt. Perhaps….at last…"I believe you. I believe **in** you," she whispered, turning her head and seizing his lips in one movement.

He had been unable to think when she melted into him…unable to move, so welcome was her body molding itself against his again. Then her mouth found his, and for a few moments time stood still, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Alessia turned to face him, clutching his tunic, pulling him to her, kissing him so deeply he felt dizzy from the headiness of it. He lingered in the kiss, his emotions raging, his heart conflicted. Finally, he broke it off and released himself from her grasp.

She inhaled sharply when he pulled away from her. "I…I'm sorry…I thought…forgive me…" she whispered, heartbroken at his reaction, that he still felt so repelled by her. She could not keep her disappointment from spilling forth and as the tears began to flow, she wiped angrily at them, irritated she could not keep them at bay.

Torin felt terrible then, and reached out to her. "Alessia…I'm sorry. It's just…I can't…I'm not…" There was nothing he could say that would make her feel better, so he just repeated lamely, "I'm sorry." He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but he was not ready. He wondered if he ever would be able to get past it.

"Will you…ever be able to forgive me?" Alessia asked plaintively.

Torin did not want to lie to her. He did not want to mislead her. This whole thing had started because of dishonesty. He did not have an answer for her. He had in fact forgiven her…but he didn't know if he could forget…if it would always come between them…if he would always wonder if she was lying to him. "I…don't know," he said truthfully.

She nodded, looking as though he had struck her. "I…give me a few minutes," she said softly, turning away from him. She needed to regain her composure. He was, at least, trying not to hurt her. She was grateful for that. But when he had sought her out to comfort her, wrapped her in his cloak to warm her, let her press into him…she had thought… But he was not yet willing to let go of the anger.

Torin went back inside leaving her to her sorrow, hating himself for being the cause of it.

Morning came and they were preparing to set out for Imperial City, the first planned stop on their ambassador tour. Martin came running up to them. "Wait! There is something else you should know. I have found out more about the ritual to open the portal to Camoran's Paradise. The second item I need is the counterpart to the first: the blood of a Divine. This was a terrible puzzle to me. Unlike the Daedra Lords, the gods have no artifacts, and do not physically manifest themselves in our world. How then to obtain the blood of a god? But Jauffre solved it. The blood of Tiber Septim himself who became one of the Divines. We know where to find his armor which is stained with it. This is a secret remembered only by the Blades, passed down from one Grandmaster to the next," he told them.

Jauffre shook his head in reluctant foreboding. "I wish there was another way. The Armor is in the Shrine of Tiber Septim, in the catacombs beneath the ruin of Sancre Tor. After the Battle of Sancre Tor, he gave his armor to the Blades in honor of our role in his victory. The Blades built a shrine in the catacombs there, on the spot where Tiber Septim received the blessing of Akatosh. It was a holy place, once, a place of pilgrimage for all Blades. But it became evil long ago. The four mightiest Blades of Tiber Septim's day - Alain, Valdemar, Rielus, and Casnar - went to Sancre Tor and never returned. Indeed, no one has returned from the Shrine of Tiber Septim for many lifetimes. But I do not know the nature of the evil that lurks there for the catacombs of Sancre Tor were sealed by the first Grandmaster of the Blades. Here, this is the key to the shrine's outer door. I fear I am sending you to your death, but we have no other choice. You must proceed," Jauffre said, bowing his head in homage to his fallen comrades, and the tragedy that had befallen a once great shrine of the Order.

They had two clear and divergent tasks now.

Alessia spoke up, concerned with the urgency of the situation. "We could split up, each go after a different task. I could go after the armor while Torin plays the diplomat and tries to enlist aid for Bruma," she said. She thought he would be relieved she was not in his presence any longer and she would not have to face the constant heartache of his rejection. They made a formidable duo certainly, but it had become so difficult. She was not sure how long she could go on like this. Perhaps it was better this way.

"What? No…" Torin started scowling.

"It only makes sense. You are the 'Hero of Kvatch' and now of Bruma. You are the one with influence. They will listen to you. You have closed the Gates several times. You must be the one to seek additional soldiers," she said matter-of-factly. "We can save time by…"

"No!" he said firmly, grasping her arm. "We are not splitting up. It's too dangerous. We will not save time if we suffer defeat by dividing our forces. You said it yourself, we make a good team. I…trust you…at my back. We started this together and we'll finish it together," he said with finality.

Alessia was uncertain what to make of this. He wanted her to stay with him…insisting on it. Yet there was still a distance between them that made working together awkward, sometimes tense. But just as he was not willing to give in to her, he appeared equally unwilling to let her go. "Very well," she said finally, feeling her spirits lift. He was struggling, but he would not release her. That was something. He had to work through this. And she, who had always been so impetuous, would need to learn patience.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

"Close the Gate! - How to Win Friends and Influence People"

Imperial City was the first stop they made, in hopes of garnering the greatest force from Chancellor Ocato, who was ruling the Empire with the help of the Elder Council in the wake of Emperor Uriel Septim's death. But he had seemed reticent.

"From the Blades, did you say? Jauffre sent you? What's this about? Quickly, now," Ocato said as though they were merely there to bother him with trivial matters.

"I've come to ask aid for Bruma," Torin told him. He explained the threat.

"This is terrible news. Under normal circumstances, I would dispatch a legion or two to Bruma immediately. But the circumstances are not normal, are they? I've been pleading for troops for Cyrodiil for weeks, but the generals assure me that the entire Imperial Army is already fully committed. Besides, I'd have a full-scale political crisis on my hands if I tried to pull any troops out of the provinces. I'm sorry, but the cities of Cyrodiil will have to fend for themselves for the time being," Ocato said, waving his hands about in grand gestures of self-importance.

"What about the Elder Council?" Alessia asked.

"Don't worry. The Elder Council can govern the Empire perfectly well until a new heir can be found," he comforted them somewhat condescendingly.

Torin and Alessia exchanged glances. He gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of the head. They dare not reveal Martin's existence yet, even to the head of the Elder Council. Not until they knew the depth of the conspiracy against the throne, not until they knew who was trustworthy. The Mythic Dawn was everywhere, it seemed. Its grasp might reach as high as the Elder Council for all they knew. Even if Ocato was innocent, Martin was not yet ready to assume the reigns of leadership of an Empire, nor was he free to do so. His knowledge was yet needed to help stop this invasion from Oblivion…to determine how they could put an end to Dagon's plans. For now, the governance of the Elder Council would have to suffice.

"Truth be told," Ocato continued, "Most of the Council has returned to the provinces to deal with urgent local matters, but we are in regular communication. But the Inner Council still holds regular meetings. We have the situation well in hand, I assure you," Ocato had said dismissively, as though Torin and Alessia couldn't possibly understand the workings of Imperial government.

Torin and Alessia looked at each other uncertainly. This was one place they had not expected to fail. But it could not be helped, they supposed. Everything was in chaos since the Emperor's death. Torin could imagine the demands on the central government in this time of crisis. Politics. They accepted defeat in this one instance, hoping it was the only one they would have.

Next, they headed west towards Chorrol. Torin had insisted they stop at his Battlehorn Castle home first, where they could repair and restock. She was delighted to be taken into his world, to gain more of a sense of him.

Alessia marveled. It was a dramatic castle in a stunningly beautiful setting, nestled in the Colovian Highlands. Torin had rescued it from bandits years ago and been awarded the deed for his heroics. The bankrupt owner had loved his family castle and, though he had been tragically killed in the marauders' assault, he had bequeathed it to any potential savior. Torin had since renovated the castle to even exceed its former glory. Now it rivaled some of the most magnificent in Tamriel. It must have cost him a pretty septim, Alessia thought. She knew he was wealthy, and she didn't care. She had never cared much for the trappings of money. She invested her septims in equipment and supplies, putting some aside for the future, and donating a substantial amount to the Sisters of the Nine Orphanage. She didn't even own a home, preferring to sleep under the stars or take a bed at an acceptable inn when she was in a town. She laughed when Torin told her he had four homes…one in Cheydinhal, a manor in Skingrad, this spectacular scenic castle in the mountains outside of Chorrol, and a wizard's tower hidden somewhere in the Jerall Mountains.

"So…do you feel the need to collect a house in every town you pass through?" she teased, looking at him skeptically.

Torin laughed. "No, four is quite enough. Battlehorn just sort of fell into my lap, an eccentric uncle I never met left me the mage tower Frostcrag Spire, Rosethorn Hall in Skingrad is my admittedly self-indulgent venture, and well…I just fell in love with Cheydinhal, and wanted to have a place there," he said wistfully.

Alessia smiled. Cheydinhal **was** lovely. She always imagined she would return home and settle down when her adventuring days were done. And she could tell by his demeanor, Cheydinhal was his favorite. Perhaps she would get a chance to see his home there one day.

"So, what do you think of my castle?" Torin asked as he guided her about.

"It is truly splendid, Torin. You've done a wonderful job of making it feel warm and welcoming…except…" she stopped, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

He grinned. "It's alright. Tell me what I can do to improve the place. I'm afraid Battlehorn could definitely use the feminine touch," he said amicably.

Alessia flushed at being given the "feminine" moniker…something to which she rarely gave consideration. But she surprisingly found it gave her pleasure that he still did think of her as feminine, in spite of her chosen profession.

"Well…I would…the trophies in the great hall…I do not mind killing a creature to defend myself in the wild, but I would not care to go downstairs for my breakfast and come face to face with the open jaws of a Daedroth," she said, as diplomatically as possible.

He laughed. "Consider them gone. The prior owner, it seems, was something of a hunter. I just never bothered to remove his handiwork, but I am not particularly enamored of them. If you think they should go, then I humbly bow to your superior intuition," he said bowing deeply, a devilish smile on his handsome face.

"It…it is **your** home. Whatever **you** think is best, you should do," she said awkwardly, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

"But I wanted to know what **you** thought," he replied warmly, "Come, let us dine. Tomorrow, we begin our quest for allies with Countess Valga of Chorrol. I shall have my men take away the trophies this evening and we will sleep well tonight knowing there will not be any foul beasts awaiting us at breakfast," Torin said, a twinkle in his eye.

Alessia returned his smile hesitantly as he led her into the dining hall.

* * *

Gaining allies proved to be far more difficult than they had expected…not because the leaders of the cities of Cyrodiil didn't want to help…but because they were each under siege themselves. Oblivion Gates had opened outside each of the towns they went to for assistance, and there were no men-at-arms that could be spared under such conditions. Torin and Alessia understood now this was going to be more than a diplomatic mission…they were going to have to help seal each of the openings into the Daedra realm.

One by one, the Counts and Countesses that ruled the cities of Cyrodiil promised their support for Bruma once the threat to their people was ended. One by one, the Gates of Oblivion fell to the battle skills of Torin Grayrider and Alessia Ravenwild. Allied soldiers flooded into Bruma from all over Cyrodiil. Countess Valga of Chorrol, Leyawiin's bitter Count Marius Caro, Anvil's kind Countess Millona Umbranox, Count Indarys of Cheydinhal…even Kvatch's beleaguered Savlian Matius…all had proffered men and supplies to aid in Bruma's defense. They began to have hope that they could stave off this assault from the Daedra hell.

Now, Torin and Alessia found themselves in Skingrad, the domain of the strange and reclusive Count Janus Hassildor. They were tired…bone tired…borderline exhausted. They had tackled Gate after Gate with no seeming end to the hordes of Daedra they faced…the number of Daedra they put down. It was a mind game for them now. They told themselves there was only one more Gate after this…that they could rest after Bravil…after they had gotten enough allies to prop up Bruma. But it seemed the more Gates they sealed, the more Daedra they faced. By the time they reached the Skingrad Gate Sigillum Sanguis, the topmost chamber of the tower that held the Sigil Stone maintaining the portal, they were physically on their last legs. This sanctum was the most well-guarded that they had encountered thus far. Three Dremora Kynmarchers, two Dremora Markynaz, and a Xivilai, with its ever-present hound Clannfear protected this Sigil Stone. And all were dread opponents. Torin and Alessia glanced at each other. This fight would not go easily for them in their fatigued state.

The conflict was frenzied. For what seemed an eternity, they hacked and parried, blocked and stabbed. Ice bolts flew and arcs of electricity crackled. Arrows whizzed through the air and swords clashed. The hoarse, guttural threats and taunts of the Kynmarchers reverberated throughout the room. And then, the unthinkable happened. Torin was knocked off his feet by the mighty blow of a Daedric claymore, landing on his back, his sword flying from his hand and landing nearby. At that moment, the Markynaz that had struck him leveled a great burden spell at him increasing his weight dramatically. His heavy armor pinned him to the ground and he could not get up. A moment had not passed when the Daedra uttered a spell of silence on the adventurer to prevent him from using his magic. Torin was rendered effectively helpless as the enemy closed. He tried to stretch for his sword, but the weight that had been added to his body was enormous. The weapon teased him with its nearness, the glint of its steel taunting him. It lay tantalizingly close, yet woefully out of reach for one in his precarious position. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Markynaz raise the claymore and swing downward. It was all Torin could do to position the wondrous shield he still held between himself and the giant blade. The heavy blow knocked the wind from his lungs, but also stunned the surprised Markynaz, for the Escutcheon of Chorrol was enchanted, magically reflecting a portion of the damage inflicted on it back at its assailant. Torin had to hope it would hold until the burden spell wore off or the Daedric minion was ended by his own attack. Twice more the claymore came down on his shield, the last time ripping it from his grip. The burden still held him in place. He watched in horror as the Markynaz slowly lifted the great two-handed weapon with an evil grin on his face. The monster laughed coarsely, "Dagon will be pleased with me. It is **I** who will finish his champion!" The claymore reached its peak, raised high over the Dremora's head.

In that moment…as he faced his own mortality…as he expected to meet his death…he did not think of Dagon's victory, or the Empire, or the fate of thousands. Torin thought of Alessia, hoping against hope that she would somehow live through this. He swallowed hard, prepared for his life to end, when he heard two familiar "thwips". The Markynaz froze, a look of utter shock on his grisly features. Two throwing knives had found their mark in his back. Alessia was on him like lightning then, grabbing his hands which still gripped the great two-handed sword and pulling them away from their intended arc. Then she unleashed her deadly daggers. Before he could even respond to her attack, the Markynaz, last of the Daedra guarding the Skingrad portal, fell to the ground in front of Torin. The hideous visage of the Dremora hovering over him was replaced by Alessia's beautiful face. Fear and worry marked her features as she removed Torin's helm and she was unable to mask the concern in her voice when she asked him, "Are you alright, Torin? Are you hurt?"

"No…I am…uninjured," Torin struggled to reply, finding it difficult to breathe. Though he thought his ribs unbroken, his chest felt battered by the onslaught of the Daedra and the burden spell weighed heavy on his lungs. "Burdened," he managed.

Relief washed over her. She felt the tightness of anxiety ease in her chest. She chuckled now to see **him**, the savior of practically every city in Cyrodiil lying on the ground so powerlessly. "A likely story…" she teased, "You picked a fine time to rest upon your laurels, Hero of Kvatch. The whole time I've been fighting, you've just been lying around?" she asked in mock irritation.

A slow smile spread over his face. Oh, so that's how it was going to be, was it? he thought to himself.

Alessia poked at him with the tip of her boot. "You're sure you cannot move?" she asked.

"I have potions in my pack which should counteract the effects…" Torin started.

"Hmm…I don't know," she said mischievously, tapping her forefinger to her chin thoughtfully. "I think I should consider the situation carefully before deciding what to do…"

"Alessia…the potions. Now is not the time for your tomfoolery. Quickly, wench! If more Daedra come, I will be unable to help you," Torin said firmly, attempting to hide his amusement in the manner a parent does with an errant but adorable child.

"If more Daedra come, I shall have to dispatch them without your help **again** while you are lazing about," she retorted brazenly, knowing full well he could do nothing about her taunts at present. She was beginning to like having him as a captive audience. She was free to say or do anything…at least for the time being…and was emboldened by his helplessness.

She brought her boot down on his stomach lightly eliciting a grunt from him. "**That** is for calling me wench!" she said with mock indignance.

His surprised look did not stop her from following her first blow with a second. "**That** is for letting that Markynaz get the drop on you and scaring me half to death," she said, her voice more anxious than irritated.

Her foot landed close enough to his hand for him to grab it then, throwing her off balance. She tumbled onto him, her face centimeters from his.

It was her turn to be surprised. She had not realized he could move at all.

Torin grinned. "I said I was burdened, not paralyzed," he reminded her.

She smiled slightly and gazed at him a long moment. Then her face grew serious. She leaned in and kissed him tenderly on the corner of his mouth. "And **that** is for staying alive long enough for me to get to you," she said softly.

He was speechless.

Seeing his stunned reaction, she added, "Do not bother protesting. I know it means nothing. But you are unable to pull away from me now and it is how I feel," she said belligerently. Her eyes lingered on him briefly and then she abruptly pulled herself off of him and retrieved the potions from his pack. She lifted his head enough that he could drink.

Torin began to stir as the weight lessened. Alessia rose and turned to face him. She smiled slightly extending her hand to him. He hesitated, then took it and she pulled him up. "These Daedra are becoming more bothersome," she said, humorously understating the situation with a devilish smile.

He could not help but smile back at her bravado. She was truly fearless and truly phenomenal. He began to wonder why he was still holding her at arm's length when he so wanted to be holding her in his arms. "Alessia…" he started.

She did not want him to explain again why he could not be with her. She did not want to hear his reasons now. "The Sigil Stone…" she interrupted, and ran up the sinewy ramp to claim it.

Torin winced imperceptibly and followed.


	11. Chapter 11

11.

"The Sacrifice"

There was only Bravil now. They still needed to garner support for Bruma from the brusque Count Regulus Terentius, and based on the past strategy of Dagon, they were certain that they would have to close yet another Gate to get it. Torin and Alessia could not prevent the Gates from spawning in the countryside all over the provinces, but they could take out the Gates that threatened the cities. Torin had to buy Martin time to find a way to stop Dagon. And Cyrodiil had to band together to keep Bruma from falling.

The Daedric Prince was clearly trying to separate Cyrodiil's forces. By keeping the different regional armies occupied with haphazard skirmishes, he could keep them from uniting against him. But it was Torin's intent to keep the rulers of Cyrodiil focused on the larger picture. And he knew the help of the main Imperial army would be needed. With that in mind, they returned to Imperial City before moving on to Bravil in hopes of persuading Chancellor Ocato to provide some assistance now that things had settled down some in the provinces. Fortunately, word had reached the Chancellor of their exploits, and seeing the provinces had gained some relief, he, too, sent aid to Bruma.

They were passing through the Temple District when a distraught woman ran up to them, claiming that her husband Gilen desperately needed their help. He was waiting to talk to Torin in Seridur's house. It seemed that Norvala's husband was a member of a group, led by Seridur, an Altmer High Elf, called the Order of the Virtuous Blood. Seridur invited them in, offering to take their gear and store it for them.

"Ow!" Torin said grabbing his arm, as the Altmer took his weapons and shield.

"Forgive my clumsiness, I didn't mean to injure you. I am not good with weapons, you see," Seridur said, awkwardly apologetic.

Torin glanced at the small cut. "It is nothing. Please do not give it a second thought," he said, embarrassed he had even reacted to it. Yet he had suffered much greater wounds in battle without such sting. It surprised him it had hurt so much. The pain ebbed and he shook his head, dismissing it.

They were led to a small group of men and introduced. "We are the Order of the Virtuous Blood. It is our goal and sworn mission to rid Tamriel of vampires…to stamp them out anywhere and everywhere we find them…to hunt them down and destroy them for the abominations they are," Seridur explained.

"Virtuous Blood, destroyers of the tainted, bane of the night stalker," the circle of men chanted their melodramatic mantra with such serious sincerity, that Torin had to stifle a laugh. He assessed them at a glance. These men were shopkeepers, not soldiers. Torin doubted they would last five minutes with a real vampire. He wondered if any of them had ever even encountered one. But then, he supposed that was why he was here…to enforce their motto.

"We have long admired your exploits, Hero of Kvatch. Your reputation, and that of your beautiful companion, precede you," Seridur said, eying Alessia boldly.

It was clear to Torin from the lust in Seridur's eyes that he was an admirer of more than Alessia's reputation. The adventurer smirked. "Perhaps you could tell us why we are here…what so urgently requires our assistance," he said, unable to hide the irritation in his voice.

Alessia bit her lip to keep from smiling patronizingly. She had picked up on Seridur's lascivious gaze and knew from whence Torin's aggravation stemmed.

"Yes, of course. I realize how busy you both must be. Let me explain," he started. Seridur, it seemed, had just witnessed a heinous murder by a man named Roland Jenseric, whom he had discovered to be a vampire. Seridur had come upon Jenseric and a woman he had been courting in the midst of a struggle, and tried to intervene, but Jenseric attacked him and he barely escaped. When Seridur returned to the area to check on the woman, he found her dead, two puncture wounds in her neck. He knew then he was dealing with a vampire…a very powerful vampire. And now Jenseric was nowhere to be found. Still, Seridur suspected he remained at large in the area.

Seridur looked at Alessia much of the time he talked. His voice was soothing, disarming. The more he talked, the more she relaxed, the more she grew to trust him, to like him. She wanted to help him, to do as he asked.

"This Jenseric is extremely dangerous…and very persuasive. You cannot allow yourself to be drawn in by him as this poor young woman was. It is safest to end him quickly, before he can influence you with his demonic power. Give him not the slightest chance to place you under his control, for you will pay a terrible price. We entreat you to find the monster and strike him down at the first opportunity. We have taken notice of the Hero of Kvatch's great achievements and felt only he, and, of course, his most capable companion, were up to this task. So, will you help us?" Seridur asked, glancing at Torin, then turning his attention solely to Alessia. He smiled charmingly at her.

"Yes…yes…we must, Torin," she said adamantly, turning to him. "They need our help," she entreated.

"Very well, then. We shall make short work of this foul murderer and then we must depart," Torin replied. In truth, he had great distaste for vampires himself…disgusting creatures that fed off the life's blood of others. He supposed they could make time to dispatch one of these monsters.

"I suggest that one of you stay here with us. We can search areas he has been known to haunt. We would do it ourselves, but alas, we have not the skill to avoid being slain by this most powerful of creatures, and since he knows me, I am certain he will try to destroy the only witness to his terrible crime. Perhaps the young lady would be willing to stay behind and help us, while you scout his home and try to learn his whereabouts," Seridur said, staring at Alessia.

She seemed dazed for a moment, then turned to Torin. "Yes, that makes perfect sense. If we split up, we can get done faster and get to Bravil," she said firmly, her decision clearly already made.

Torin scowled. He did not want to split up. They worked well together. They fought well together. Their styles complemented each other perfectly. He could not acknowledge even to himself that he feared for her safety when she was not with him. "I…see no reason to separate…" he started.

Alessia cut him off, "No. This is the way it must be. I know our main goal should be to get to Bravil, but I feel we **must** help these men. What they are trying to do is noble and admirable. If we can accomplish this more quickly by dividing our forces, then we should do it," she asserted, leaving no room for argument.

Torin was not entirely comfortable with the idea, but he finally consented at Alessia's insistence. Still, there was something about this whole scenario he found unsettling…that made him uneasy. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly…not enough to alarm Alessia anyway, so he begrudgingly agreed.

Alessia pulled him aside, an understanding smile on her face. "I know you would rather stick together. I cannot explain it, but I believe this is important and I feel honor-bound to help them. Perhaps it is intuition. But it will only be for a few days at most, I am sure, perhaps only hours if we find him quickly. Now go track our vampire so we can end this with all haste. Soon enough we can be back about the business of saving the Empire," she said trying to placate him.

Torin frowned, giving her an unconvincing nod.

Alessia thrust out her bottom lip, offering up her best pout, her most practiced doe-eyed gaze pleading for his understanding.

A slow smirk spread over his face. "You are a sorceress," he accused, sighing in mock-disgust at how easily she had manipulated him.

"And you…are my hero," she returned, laughing, "Now be off with you, and find this vampire so we may be on our way."

* * *

Seridur had entranced the other men to go to their homes and wait for his orders. That would allow him to be alone with the woman long enough to infect her. "You must be terribly tired from your long journey. Perhaps you should rest before dinner," he said staring into her eyes.

Suddenly, Alessia felt exhausted…as though she couldn't take another step without getting some sleep. "Yes…I…am tired. A short nap…just a few minutes. Then we can make plans…to…" she stammered, shaking her head. Seridur guided her to a bed and she collapsed on it. He smiled wickedly. Now, it was time to ensure success.

Seridur had used the Order as pawns to protect himself for months now, cleverly manipulating them. But then they had insisted he hire Torin and Alessia to track Jenseric. To maintain his cover, he had consented, against his better judgment. Grayrider was already infected without realizing it. Seridur had punctured his arm with his fingernail when he had taken his weapons. Soon, this exquisite woman who travelled at his side would also contract the disease that had made Seridur who he was. It was a brilliant plan, he thought, admiring his own strategy. The fool adventurer would kill the innocent Jenseric as a vampire, solving Seridur's little problem for him. If Grayrider turned, it would be attributed to Jenseric. The Order would tragically be forced to hunt down and kill this terrible new vampire threat, or the man would flee the city. Either way, Seridur would be free of him. If somehow, he discovered he was infected and healed himself, he would still assume it was Jenseric, and Seridur could send him on his way…without the woman, of course.

Seridur had planned to keep her the moment he had laid eyes on her. Relfina was a lovely young woman, but **this** one…she was beyond compare. This Alessia Ravenwild would be Relfina's most welcome replacement. She would rule the Memorial Cave nest at his side. Together, they would command the fools known as the Order of the Virtuous Blood in Imperial City, protecting their true natures. Yes, Grayrider would discover when he returned that Miss Ravenwild had decided to stay and help the Order in their mission and she would insist he would have to go on alone.

He looked down at the sensuous woman deep in a trance of sleep. When he was done with her and ready for the next step, he would wake her. Now, it was time for him to feed…and time for her to take her first step towards joining him. He ran his finger up her bare leg, sliding the skirt of her tunic up slightly. Seridur could sense the pounding of her femoral artery, the blood coursing through it. His eyes glazed over and his nostrils flared. His breathing grew shallow and ragged as the cravings overpowered him. Thin cruel lips curled into a sinister sneer as his fangs extended, and he fell upon her, sinking his teeth into her soft flesh. A distressed moan escaped her lips, but she did not stir. When he had taken his fill and she was infected, he carefully cleaned the blood from her neck and applied makeup to cover the wounds. They were barely visible now. He watched her a moment more, suppressing his desire. No, there would be time for that later, when she was his. Now, he had much to do.

* * *

The house had been empty for days. Jenseric had disappeared after the death of the young woman he was seeing. When he searched Jenseric's home, Torin came across a letter from Relfina, Roland's unfortunate lover. It indicated they had shared a cabin in the woods just outside Imperial City for their trysts, that she had missed him terribly, and longed to see him again. He scowled. It sounded as though she was blissfully happy and in love. A faint suspicion began to grow. He decided to go to the cabin. Perhaps Roland had sought refuge there.

When Torin arrived at the little cottage, he confronted Jenseric. Seridur's words raced through his head - '…end him quickly, before he can influence you…'. But something in the man's demeanor gave him pause. He was grief-stricken when Torin came on him, and stunned to find Seridur had initiated a manhunt for him. Suddenly, Seridur's account seemed dubious at best and Torin determined to hear Roland's version of the story. Jenseric was a defeated man…guilt-ridden and distraught because he had not been able to prevent Relfina's death. He accused Seridur of being the vampire…that Relfina had been lured out in the night because he hungered for her. Roland had followed. When he saw his entranced beloved allow Seridur to bite her neck, he realized what was happening, and assaulted the elven vampire. In the struggle with Seridur, Relfina had fallen and hit her head, killing her instantly. The vampire struck him and before he fell unconscious, he heard the sound of Seridur's vicious laughter as his footsteps faded into the night. Roland realized why he was left alive now…to cast suspicion on **him** for Relfina's death.

The man was devastated. "I…she was the love of my life…I would **never** harm her," he bemoaned, putting his head in his hands. "If you're going to do it, then do it. Finish me," he said numbly. "I don't care anymore. Without her, I am dead anyway_._"

Torin believed him. He felt the man's torment. He thought…maybe he understood. And Seridur had made him uneasy from the start. There was something about his eyes he had noticed from the outset, but it was a dark cellar where they had gathered, and Torin had dismissed it as poor lighting. So Seridur was using this organization as a cover for himself. What better way to throw suspicion off than to pretend to hunt for the very thing you are? And then it hit him. Alessia! Seridur had surely charmed her! He had stared at her in such an odd way and she had fallen under his sway, acquiescing to his wishes as though they were her own. And he had left her with that monster! Damn it! How could he not have realized? By the Gods! he thought to himself as he raced back to Imperial City, if anything has happened to her…

When he returned to Imperial City, Torin found Seridur was gone, and Alessia was nowhere to be found. No one was in Seridur's home. When he finally found Gilen Norvalo sitting patiently at home waiting, he told the man everything. Gilen was stunned. Torin was desperate to find Alessia and begged him for any clue as to where he might find Seridur…for he believed the vampire held her in his grip. Gilen revealed that sometimes Seridur took trips to Memorial Cave, an old forgotten underground cemetery, southeast of the city. He had always assumed it was to honor some dead relative, but now… Torin lit out for the site, certain he would find them there…dreading what else he might find.

When he arrived, he discovered the burial grounds had evolved into a nest of vampires. He fought his way through them until, finally, he confronted Seridur, surrounded by four remaining vampire minions. Torin growled and charged him. The underlings started toward Torin, but Seridur raised his arm, halting them. "No need," he said sinisterly. Seridur pulled a dazed Alessia out from behind him and bared his fangs near her neck, hissing. "Stop now or I will rip her throat out. I can do it before you have taken two steps," he warned.

Torin came skidding to a stop just a few feet from his quarry, panic in his eyes. "Alessia!" he shouted in horror.

"Do not waste your breath, Grayrider. She is under my influence now. She knows nothing else at this moment," Seridur smirked.

"Let her go, Seridur! She means nothing to you. It's over. Release her and I let you live," Torin bluffed.

The vampire laughed. "You fool. Do you not think I can see your feelings for her? Drop your weapons now or she dies. I will not ask you again," Seridur snarled ominously.

Torin was helpless. As quick and agile as he was, a vampire's speed was legendary. She would be dead before he could even reach the monster. He threw down his gear, uncertain what to do next.

The vampires rushed to seize him, holding him in a viselike grip.

A greasy smile spread over Seridur's lips. "So predictable. You have killed Jenseric and now you show up here looking for the woman. I anticipated as much," the vampire said smugly.

Torin glared at the monster before him. "Your days are numbered, Seridur. I did **not** kill Jenseric. He told me what really happened…that **you** killed Relfina and I believed him. He lives, and your Order knows the truth, that **you** are the vampire!" he shouted.

"What?! I **told** you not to talk to him! You have ruined everything!" Seridur gurgled with rage, his red eyes flashing. Then he fell eerily silent. "No matter. I will simply go  
elsewhere. But for you, it ends here. Bring me his pack," he ordered. Then he smiled at Torin and turned to Alessia's hypnotized form. "She is very beautiful, isn't she?" he asked. Suddenly, his lips pulled back and he sunk his fangs deep into her neck.

"Alessia! Nooooooo!" Torin screamed, struggling wildly to get to her. He could only watch in horror as Seridur drained her.

As if Alessia sensed her life being stolen from her, she snapped out of her stupor for a moment and gasped, reaching out to him. "Torin…" she cried weakly, before her arm fell to her side. Her eyes closed, and her body fell limp in Seridur's arms.

"Alessia!" Torin screamed. "Alessia…" he wailed, his voice trailing off. He slumped to his knees, his face in his hands…broken.

"She is alive, Grayrider," Seridur said with a smirk.

Torin's head snapped up. He had thought…

"It will not go so easy for **you**. She will live because I want her to live," Seridur offered, "As my queen," he added, lasciviously licking the blood from her neck wound before laying her on the ground.

Torin nearly went mad from rage, understanding the implication. "You bastard, I'll kill you!"

The Altmer bloodsucker laughed. "She is mine within a few short hours. Soon, she will be one of us and she will be beyond your help," he taunted.

Torin looked confused. "No…she has three days before she turns. I will save her. I will find a way," he blustered, knowing the futility of his words while he himself was in captivity.

Seridur opened the pack brought to him, seeing the eight small vials of health potion, and started pulling them out one by one, pouring them out onto the cave floor as he spoke. "Ah, but you see, there is something you do not know. It is time for me to reveal my surprise. You are right that it takes three days for the porphyric hemophilia to progress to its end stage vampirism, when it is no longer curable. But, I will tell you now that she was actually infected three days ago, when you left my house. I commanded her to sleep and drank my fill of her," Seridur gloated as he emptied the last of the vials.

Torin's eyes grew wide. Nooooo. He could not let Seridur have her! Now he understood the significance of Seridur's destruction of his health potions. Torin's magic allowed him to cure lesser diseases, but it was not strong enough to cure the hemophilia that was precursor to this heinous condition. If he had been born a Breton, powerful in the ways of magic, perhaps he could have healed her…but as an Imperial, he had not the ability to prevent her from turning. Only a health potion or a prayer at a chapel altar of the Gods could cure her before she transformed, and there was no time.

"And, oh yes, did I mention that you, too, are infected? Only a few hours before her, when I took your weapons, my fingernail sliced your arm," Seridur said triumphantly.

Torin blanched when he remembered the sharp pain and Seridur's meek apology.

"To be honest," Seridur continued, "I do not think I can let you live at this point. When I began all this, I had not expected you to be so much trouble. But I expect now, you will forever be a thorn in my side over the woman. So I suppose I cannot leave you wandering free as a vampire when you might very well return to try to destroy me and take her back. Pity, I would have enjoyed thinking of you suffering through the perils of my state and knowing it was your fault that your woman suffered the same fate. Of course, I will see that she is very happy at my side. Or…at least…that I am very happy…" Seridur sneered ominously.

Torin had been in shock at the revelations. But Seridur's last words had sobered him. To think of that monster touching her…Torin clenched his jaw.

"One more thought before you die. Since you have put the Order on my trail, know that when she turns, it will be **her** life they seek out as well. And if they come for me, I will see to it that **she** is sacrificed before me," Seridur assured him mockingly.

Torin exploded with rage then. His body coiled and his legs shot into the knees of the vampires holding his arms. They buckled to the cave floor in surprise, releasing him. He leaped up and lunged for his weapons, grabbing his fire-enchanted shortsword. The one great weakness of a vampire was fire, and this weapon was Torin's greatest ally now. He cast spells at the two vampires that were scrambling to their feet to increase their weakness to fire and quickly struck them down. Then he turned his fury on a stunned Seridur, leaping between the hated vampire and a prone Alessia so he could not use her for leverage again. Torin's eyes blazed with wrath and Seridur knew fear for the first time in many years.

"Get him!" Seridur screeched, as the other two vampires vaulted towards him. One's head went flying as Torin separated it from his body, and the other found Torin had flipped over his back and hacked him into a fiery death. Torin turned to face Seridur, who spun and ran. Torin paralyzed him and caught up with him as the spell faded. They fought furiously, incantations flying. Seridur had cloaked himself with invisibility to hide as he threw spell after spell at the enraged Hero of Kvatch, but Torin's sword finally hit its mark, knocking Seridur to the ground and making him visible. Seridur raised his hand to shield himself from the adventurer's onslaught. But there was no mercy in Torin's heart for this monster. "For what you have done to Alessia…" he said with steely cold resolve. Then he raised the sword and rained fiery death down on the vampire until he was finished.

When the bloodlust had cleared, Torin raced back to Alessia, taking her in his arms, trying to wake her. But she did not stir. Seridur had taken much blood. She would turn before she awoke, he guessed. He cared not for his own fate, but Alessia…nooo, not this. He had no idea how much time they had left, but he knew he was infected before her and he had not yet turned. He leaped up and ran to his pack, hopeful that Seridur had overlooked a vial. But there was nothing. He began to feel despair when it came to him. His boot! He had asked the blacksmith to build in a small holder for a health potion to keep on him at all times for emergencies when he was unable to get to his pack. He had not used it of late and had nearly forgotten about it in the chaos. Torin reached down and opened the compartment and pulled out the treasured substance. He was overwhelmed with joy until it dawned on him. There was only one vial. And they were both infected. In truth, he did not know how much of the potion it would take to cure the disease, but he dare not risk splitting the contents and possibly curing neither of them. And so the choice was upon him. He knew he had been infected before her. It made sense for him to take the vial and try to get her back to Imperial City to get a health potion before she turned. Then he smiled sadly. No. He could never take such a gamble on her life. He walked over to her and lifted her head, pouring the health potion down her throat. He stroked her hair and held her in his arms for a moment thinking how she had affected him…that he would willingly sacrifice his human existence to insure hers…that he would become an abomination to prevent her from losing her humanity. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her forehead. Then he lifted her in his arms and began the four hour trip back to Imperial City. Perhaps there was still hope for him.

They had not been gone an hour when he had to stop. He stumbled a few feet. Then he felt it take him over in a wave of heat. He crumpled to his knees and felt a surge of pain which finally faded into a mild discomfort. When he at last stood, Torin felt strange…different…a surge in vitality. His body felt lighter, as though he were no longer wearing armor. The sun seemed brighter now…hotter. And so it begins, he thought bitterly.

* * *

Torin arrived at Roland Jenseric's cabin, hoping to find him still there. Luckily, he had not yet left. Torin explained everything to the man, except that he had turned. Then he asked him to take care of Alessia and see to it that she recovered.

"You owe me," Torin said when Jenseric hesitated.

"I do. Not only for avenging Relfina's death, but for trusting me…for not killing me. But…you are sure she will not turn?" he asked.

"She is free of the disease. I cured her in time. **I** was not so fortunate," Torin said.

Roland gasped, stepping back.

Torin raised his hand in an effort to calm the man. "Do not fear. That is why I have come. I…cannot be with her while she recovers. I must…leave…before the urges begin. I ask only that you care for her until she is able to fend for herself. Seridur drank much of her blood and she is weak. Please. I can bear this curse if I know she will be alright. I beg you, on your love for Relfina, help me save the woman **I** care for," Torin pleaded.

Roland nodded. "Of course I will. Forgive my hesitation. I…this whole thing has left me…of course I will help her," he said apologetically.

Torin breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. That is all I ask," he said.

"But is there nothing that can be done for you?" Roland asked.

"No…I…there is nothing you can do. There is nothing anyone can do. I am…lost," Torin answered haltingly. "But…will you tell her this for me? Tell her I will close the Gate at Bravil and secure the armor of Tiber Septim while I am able, and she must return to Martin and find out the last pieces of the puzzle and seek them out. She will understand," he finished sadly. Then he turned to Alessia's unconscious form. He knelt beside her and took her hand, stroking her hair. "Forgive me. I will always love you, Alessia," he said softly, knowing she could not hear him, but needing to at last speak the words aloud. Then he kissed her tenderly, grieved it was the last time he would ever taste her sweet lips.

Torin stood and gazed at her longingly for a moment more, then tore his eyes away. He nodded his gratitude to Jenseric, then disappeared into the night, knowing he could never again be with her. And he could not stem the tears that forced their way down his face as he rode away. He and Jenseric had one thing in common: they had both just lost the love of their life.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

"Inhuman Failings"

The first time he slept, the dreams began. Terrible, gruesome nightmares that shook him to the core. Each night the vampirism increased its grip on him and each night the dreams grew worse. Dreams of blood and bubbling, melting flesh…of innocent children dying and rotting horribly before him…of feasting on maggots…of being buried alive. As his body needed less sleep, so did he give it less, for he had no desire to relive the evils he saw every time he shut his eyes. The urges had already begun. Torin cursed the name of Molag Bal.

Vampires were a Daedric creation…Molag Bal's cruel little joke on the mortal realm. Molag Bal, whose sphere was the domination and enslavement of mortals; whose desire was to harvest the souls of mortals and to bring them within his sway by spreading seeds of strife and discord in the mortal realms. Molag Bal, Prince of Coldharbour, where the sky was on fire but the air was cold as ice…a land of blackened ruins mired in sludge. Molag Bal, who claimed as his home a blood-spattered palace in a desolate barren world filled with suffering.

There were vampires who worshipped him as their patron. Those that did not reviled him as the bane of their existence, their heartless inventor who laughed at the monstrous state of being that had been forced on them. There was no doubt as to Torin's view. He cursed his fate and the Daedric Prince who had created his possibility.

He was gifted now with superhuman strength, incredible speed and agility, the ability to charm anyone he chose, and the power of invisibility. He would know no disease or paralysis. But for every benefit vampirism offered in the form of physical superiority and heightened senses and abilities, there was a terrible price to pay.

Vampires had a great weakness to fire. Even the gentle warmth of the sun was his enemy now. At first it would only be a discomfort to be out between the hours of dawn and dusk, but it would grow to be an unbearable burning should he not feed. And he did not want to feed. His inhuman kind were shunned by the world as vile creatures of the night, and rightfully so, becoming gaunt and haggard without the blood of others to nourish them. That was the worst of it in his mind…the need to drain the blood of others…to steal their life force to sustain his own.

So far, he had refused to prey on another. But the effects of his self-discipline were becoming more evident every day. His once piercing blue eyes, deep and sensuous, were now demonic red. At first, there was no indication that his teeth were the portal to the liquid essence of a living being, but now, after six days, his mouth hid the unmistakable fangs of a vampire. He could have concealed this appearance through the consumption of blood, which allowed others of his kind to coexist with the mortal races. But he would not have it so, and took to wearing a dark, hooded cloak that hid his face from a world that feared him.

It was thus he greeted Count Regulus Terentius to beg assistance for Bruma…a man hiding from the world and from himself. Time was his enemy, he knew. But with his newfound powers he could still be of use to his Empire…at least for a while. With Terentius' promise of payment in the form of much needed aid, Torin Grayrider strode once more into the breach, through the Gate that led to Oblivion.

Once inside, Torin doffed his cloak and gave his curse free reign. Here was the one place it might do some good, given his enhanced abilities. And he cared not that the fiends here knew he was now one of them…a monster himself. He plowed through the denizens of Oblivion with a subconsciously reckless disregard for his own life. Had he been truly aware of it, it would not have surprised him greatly, for his despair was profound. But still, he pushed on, knowing he fought for the survival of the Empire. And the powers of the vampire made him formidable. But as he fought, he felt his bloodlust growing ever stronger, the savagery in him escalating out of control. Wild-eyed, he tore through his opponents violently, almost maniacally, as the thirst for lifeblood and the fury of his circumstance threatened to overwhelm him. But he had not fed, and as his strength began to fail him, he began to fear failure. He reached the top of the Tower at last - exhausted, battered and weak with hunger. He could hear the gutteral growls of the creatures on the other side of the corridor. It was then he spotted the fountain…the terrible spring of blood that marked the outer hall of the Sigillum Sanguis of each keep. He stood rooted to the ground, staring at it, a terrible war being waged within him. And then, as if a dam had burst inside him, he fell upon it, giving in to the feverish need, drinking in the sustenance he would need to defeat the enemies yet before him. In a blind, rabid haze he drank, unaware of his surroundings, simply responding to the fierce need at a primal level. When he had taken his fill, he fell back onto the floor. With the return of his senses came the recognition of his act. Disgust and self-loathing filled his heart even as his features returned to normal and the familiar surge in vitality coursed through him. He wiped at his mouth angrily with the back of his gauntlet and stood, intent on taking his vengeful frustration out on the creatures in the chamber beyond.

Ten minutes later, a blinding flash of light lit up the night sky outside the town of Bravil, and where there was once a great fiery Gate, there now stood only a man. No…more than a man, yet at the same time, less than one. But there were none there to witness, for long since had the townsfolk retreated to the safety within the city's stone walls. None saw as the man stood there a moment, an intimidating figure in heavy armor covered in blood. And no one saw as he fell to his knees, put his head in his hands, and wept at what he had become.

* * *

It was nearly a week before Alessia could make the trip back to Cloud Ruler Temple. Her heart was not in it, but she knew it was her duty…and she knew it was Torin's last wish. But she was heavy-laden with sorrow as she made her way north. She had been in and out of consciousness for nearly three days after her ordeal and when she had finally regained awareness, she had found herself in a strange place in the company of a man she did not know. And Torin was gone. Roland Jenseric had told her everything that had transpired, for she remembered almost nothing. Her last genuine recollection was of being in the house of Seridur and feeling a crippling fatigue of a sudden. At Seridur's suggestion, she had felt compelled to lay down for a few moments and sleep to regain her strength for the trials ahead. A hazy memory of Torin's agonized face and her outstretched arm, and then, nothing more until she woke up in Jenseric's cabin. She believed Roland's account, for he was solicitous in his care of her and his version of events matched with what she already knew. And he had been forthcoming about everything…even those things that she did not believe Torin meant for her to know. Her distress had been so great at Torin's noble sacrifice and his subsequent abandonment of her, that Roland had taken pity and told her of Torin's final words…what in her heart, she already knew. He loved her. And he had left her to protect her. But knowing it did not make it easier. Knowing it made her grief multiply a thousandfold. She had to find a way to help him. Somehow…

* * *

Torin arrived at Sancre Tor to try to obtain the armor of Tiber Septim, knowing that his days of being able to assist Martin and Cyrodiil were numbered. But this one last thing he believed he could do, before his hunger slowed him…before his self-starvation weakened him too much to be of use against Dagon. He had experienced what it truly meant to be a vampire when he closed the Gate at Bravil. And it horrified him - the lack of control…the constant raging need. He was sickened by it…by what he had done under the grip of the thirst. One thing had become crystal clear to him that day. He could not live his life this way. No matter the consequences to himself, he would not feed again.

The aura of the old shrine reeked of evil when he set foot on the grounds. He felt it more than saw it at first. A heightened sense of his vampirism, no doubt. It seemed the abilities of a monster were called for to destroy the foul malevolence that lurked here. He faced many undead as he made his way to the entrance of the shrine…nether liches and skeletons roamed the ruins freely.

When he finally entered, he learned the reason for the malignance that infested Tiber Septim's Shrine. Four Blades had been sent by the Divine Talos, when he was still Emperor, to discover what evil had defiled the holy catacombs of Sancre Tor. They did not know that the Underking, Zurin Arctus, had arisen to take his first revenge upon his former lord. The Underking defeated and ensnared the Blades in his evil enchantment, and bound them to guard forever the defiled Shrine of Tiber Septim. Arctus himself had departed long ago. But his evil will remained, preventing any from paying homage at the Shrine. Torin freed the spirits of the four undead Blades who had brooded over their defeat for the countless years of their slavery there. Together, the ghosts of the four cursed Blades dispelled the wicked magic that plagued the Shrine of Tiber Septim, and Torin was able to recover the armor. Now he set his eyes reluctantly towards Cloud Ruler Temple and Martin. And dread rose in his heart…for he had no intention of seeing his beloved Alessia while he was there and he would make sure she did not see him.

* * *

A fresh contingent of soldiers had arrived in Bruma only this morning. They had been sent by Count Terentius…a sure indication her Grayrider had done as he promised and closed the Gate at Bravil. And she had felt a strange surge of relief, just knowing that he had been alive as recently as six days prior. Alessia's eyes welled. Was this how it would be evermore? Waiting anxiously for some small sign of him? Some hint that he still lived? By the Nine! She could not live this way…not knowing his fate. And she had not given up hope of changing it. She had to talk to him again. She could not just let it go as he wished. Torin had said he would secure the armor of Tiber Septim. And that meant he would return here with it. And she would be waiting for him, intent on not being left behind again.

* * *

"Martin…" Torin said softly. When he gently shook his Emperor's exhausted shoulder, he became visible. He had snuck past the Blades of Cloud Ruler Temple because his words were only for the man Martin, not for the Emperor Septim, and he desired that no other hear what he had to say, or even know he was here. His time as a Blade was done and he would offer his explanation to one man only…Alessia's friend, the Brother of the Nines.

Martin stirred groggily at the sound of his name. He had not slept much since this whole nightmare had begun and was disoriented. When he saw a cloaked man standing in front of him, he started, his first instinct to shout to the Blades, fearing the Mythic Dawn. But he quickly realized as the man put his finger to his mouth to silence him, that he would already be dead if this hooded stranger was an assassin.

"Martin," Torin said quietly, "I have brought you the armor of Tiber Septim."

"Torin?" Martin asked, uncertain if this was his friend and savior. His voice sounded strange.

"Yes…" Torin started.

"Thank the Gods! Alessia is **here**, at Cloud Ruler Temple! Let me go get her! She has been so worried…" Martin started.

"No!" Torin cut him off. "I will not let her see me like this. I…came to give you the armor and to speak to **you**."

Like this? Martin's brow furrowed in confusion. But he had not yet actually seen Torin's face. Perhaps it was better that he hear the man out before he involved Alessia.

"Listen now to what I must say. My time is short, and there is much to tell you," Torin said.

Martin nodded.

Torin told him everything that had happened. Martin knew much of it from Alessia's account, but Torin filled in the blanks. "I must go. My impulses are strong now. I will fight them as long as I can and then I will lock myself away so that I can do no harm. I have not fed on an innocent since this began, and I will never do so. But I grow weak with need. I have done all I can do for my Emperor. The rest is up to you. But I beg you, take care of Alessia. Look after her…help her to…accept what is…what must be. You are her friend. She will need you…not as her Emperor, but as her Martin. Will you do that one thing for me?" Torin beseeched him.

Martin was saddened to hear the grief so plain in the voice of this hero. He nodded. "Of course, I will do whatever I can to help her. But will you not stay and let us try to help you? Surely there is something that can be done," Martin entreated.

Torin shook his head. "It is incurable. I am a demon now. And I will not live at the expense of others," he said, his voice filled with self-loathing.

Alessia could not sleep. Her slumber was short and fitful since Torin had disappeared, leaving her with Jenseric to recover. Some nights she lay awake and dealt with it herself, but since she had returned to Cloud Ruler Temple, she had come to see Martin sometimes, to talk, if only for a few minutes. He had always comforted her. But this night as she prepared to knock on his door, she heard voices within. One of them sounded like…Torin! Alessia burst in. A man in a hooded cloak stood next to Martin. She could not see his features, but she knew it was him. "Torin!" Overjoyed, she rushed to embrace him.

Torin was horrified that she had discovered his presence. "NO!" he shouted, his arm extending like lightning, so fast she did not see it happen, throwing her back with a telekinetic wave of energy. He held his arm out, pinning her against the wall, and kept his face turned away from her, careful to keep it obscured by the hood of his cloak. "You cannot…be here. I…am not…here for you," he struggled to say, his head bowed in unspeakable grief.

Alessia was devastated. This was not her Torin. It did not even sound like him. His voice had an ethereal quality to it that even Seridur's had not had. But then, Seridur had fed regularly and she knew nothing of Torin's weakened condition. "Torin! I love you! And I know that you love me! We will find a way to help you! Release me now and we will find the answer together!" she sobbed in desperation.

Her words cut him with their distress…with the feeling behind them. "No. I cannot love you now. It is too late. Forget me," he said emotionally.

"I…could never forget you," she returned, nearly choking on the words.

"Do not waste your life on what can never be. You must…find another," he managed weakly, struggling for control.

Alessia's eyes glistened. "I do not want another. I…belong to you. Even if…even if you turn from me now. It will always be so. Torin…you're the only man I have ever…" she argued passionately.

"Don't you understand?!" he cried in anguish, "I am not a **man** any longer! I am a…thing…a monster!" Then he fell silent as he tried to get a grip on his emotions. "It is impossible," he finished dejectedly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Nooooo…" Alessia breathed in despair.

Torin turned to his Emperor once more. "Martin…do as I ask. I…can aid you no more. You must lead them now…be the Emperor…" Torin said weakly. Then he turned to Alessia's helpless face, streaked with tears of frustration and grief. It wounded him as no sword could to see her like that. He gazed at her one last time as though to forever embed her beautiful features in his memory, however agonized they were now. "I…am sorry…" he said to her, his voice steeped in torment. Then he lowered his arm, releasing her, and leaped out the nearby window.

Alessia screamed, "Torin!" and ran to the opening. They were on the second level of the fortress and the walls were high, with only the rocks of the Jerall Mountains below. It was a fall that would have killed a normal man. But Torin was not normal…and he was no longer just a man. He was a vampire and his acrobatic skill was enough to absorb the fall. She saw him look up at her and then he ran off, disappearing into the night…disappearing once again from her life. She slumped down onto the floor, clutching her face with her hand, and released the agony that lay within her.

Martin came over to her and sat down next to her, taking her into his arms to soothe her. He would do as Torin asked. He was Emperor now, and Alessia was his best friend…perhaps his **only** friend, now that Torin's fate was sealed. But he would not tell her that…better for her to believe he was out there somewhere, unable to face her, than know he intended to hide himself away and starve himself forever rather than feed on the innocent. He shook his head. Torin Grayrider was indeed an exceptional man, and his loss would be sorely felt by all of them. But his little spitfire would be the hardest hit of all. He looked down at Alessia's head crying softly into his chest. Martin wondered if she would ever be able to get over such a man. And he knew she wouldn't. He held her tighter.


	13. Chapter 13

13.

"Vampire Hunter"

"Tell me, Martin! Damn it! Tell me now! What did he say to you?! I can tell when you're lying to me! I have been able to since we were little!" she shouted furiously. She knew he was withholding something and she was livid. He had hesitated when she had asked him of Torin's words. What would he not tell her…and why?!

Martin was taken aback. He had never seen her like this. At least not with him. She was beside herself with anger. Once she had recovered herself, she had begun to grill him about Torin's intentions and his whereabouts. But Torin had come to him as a man…as a friend…as someone who cared about Alessia as much as he did, if in a different way. Martin did not wish to betray that trust…especially when he felt it would serve no purpose other than to make Alessia more miserable than she already was. "I…I told you. He asked me to look after you. He said he could not face you, that he didn't want you to see him like this…" Martin stammered guiltily. There was more to it, of course.

Alessia's voice grew steely quiet then. He found that more unsettling than her shouting. "Martin…you are my best friend. You are my Emperor. But he is…" she was unable to speak for a moment, her distress rising up in her throat in a great lump. She collected herself. "He is my heart…my soul. I cannot…I will not give up on him, no matter the cost to me. Perhaps you cannot understand this. I surely did not before I met him. I did not know what it was like to love another so completely that you would rather die than see him suffer a single moment…that you would sacrifice everything to save him. Please…I beg you…tell me what you know. Give me the chance to do whatever I can to help him. I know your heart is pure…that you are **both** trying to protect me. But my soul will wither and die if I am left here to wonder if I might have been able to do something…to find someone who could help him. Please…Martin…tell me what he said to you…all of it…" she beseeched him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

Martin sighed. He should have known he would be unable to keep it from her. He had wanted to honor Grayrider's wishes…and he had wanted to shield her. But it seemed neither would be possible now. She was insistent, his little spitfire. And, just as when they were young, she had wheedled the truth out of him. She had him wrapped around her little finger as had always been the case. "I do not know where he has gone, I swear to you. But…" the young Emperor hesitated, wishing desperately to find a way out of telling her the next part. "It is his intent not to feed on innocents. Ever. He intends to…isolate himself, so that he is not a threat to anyone," Martin said, aggrieved at the look of abject devastation on Alessia's face. "That is all I know. I…am so sorry, Alessia," he said softly.

"Nooooo…" she said softly, her anger deflating and defeat replacing it. She slumped into a chair. She sat for long minutes, staring at the wall, saying nothing.

She was in shock, Martin believed. But he did not know what to do for her. He finally placed his hand on her shoulder. "Alessia?" he asked tentatively.

She stirred under his hand. "The Arcane University…" she said.

"What?" Martin asked, confused.

"We went to the Arcane University before to get answers on impossible questions. They will know what to do to help him…they will have an answer…" Alessia said optimistically, trying desperately to believe her own words. She leaped out of the chair, with a renewed sense of hope, however tenuous. "I leave tomorrow. And then I will find him, whatever it takes…I will find him," she said firmly. Alessia turned to Martin and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered, smiling gratefully at him. Then she ran off to make preparations for the journey.

Martin watched her go with a mixture of pride and apprehension. He loved her like a sister. He hoped he had done the right thing.

* * *

Seeing her again had proven far more difficult than Torin could have imagined. But his ache for her was eternal and beyond description. To see her suffering as he kept her away from him cut him deeply, but it could not be helped. It was impossible for them to be together now. He would live in his memories of her, and she must find a way to move on. Martin would help her with that, he was sure. Perhaps she and Martin could…it struck him how the thought no longer made him jealous. He only wanted her happiness now and Martin was a good man. Oh, Alessia…if only...

He wondered for the thousandth time why he had not seized his moment with her. Instead, he had let his ego win victory over his heart. He had fallen in love with her, yet his vanity had held her at bay…his pride injured because she had tricked him. She had begged his forgiveness and he had not let himself get past it. By the Gods, it was all so unimportant now! What a fool he had been! He had lost a woman like her because he had chosen to hold on to his hurt. Now it was too late.

Torin could no longer stand to be out in the daylight. He had fed very little, refusing to feed on higher life forms, reduced to small vermin and animals in the wild. But their effect was not the same...animals did little to forestall the cravings and the tradeoff for the despicable feeling it gave him was not worth it. He was getting weaker. And he felt the urges growing as before. He thought he could not resist much longer. But he was ready. He had made all the arrangements. Alessia would have it all…except his uncle's frozen folly. That he reserved for himself. That was where he would live out his sentence.

It was time. He headed to Frostcrag Spire. He would harm no one. And he would spend the rest of the time he had before insanity and unconsciousness took him thinking of her.

* * *

The Arcane University had given her a promising lead. Raminus Polus, Master Wizard of the Mages' Guild in Imperial City, had indicated that the Count of Skingrad might be able to help them, though he was mysteriously unforthcoming on the details. She had to get Torin to Hassildor. Surely after he had saved the Count's city from the Oblivion Gate that threatened it, the recluse would help them. It was a ray of hope. Now she just had to find Torin.

Alessia arrived at Battlehorn Castle, hoping against hope that he would be there, but knowing in her heart he wouldn't be. He wasn't likely to be anywhere that he could be encountered. But she had to start somewhere to pick up his trail. She could only hope he had not thought to intentionally obscure his path. She felt if she questioned his Battlehorn staff, she might learn something. But when she arrived at the castle, Alessia was stunned to find a message waiting for her to meet with a man in Chorrol. This man must know something! She raced into the city to find out the appointment that had been made for her was with a lawyer. Torin had signed over all his possessions to her.

"Yes, Miss. It seems he left you all three of his homes...Battlehorn Castle, Rosethorn Hall in Skingrad, and a home in Cheydinhal, and all the contents therein, of course," the man said formally.

Alessia scowled in confusion. "Three? It only mentions three? But there are…" she stopped, her mind racing. What of his uncle's tower in the Jerall Mountains? Why would he leave that out unless…? It was isolated…hidden…Gods! He had gone there to keep himself from the world! "You're sure? There is no mention of another home?" she asked the puzzled barrister.

"No. He was very specific…just the three…" he started.

She grinned and kissed the older man who blushed at his good fortune. "Thank you!" she exclaimed as she turned and ran out of his office.

"Wait! You have to sign…" he shouted behind her.

"I don't want them!" she shouted back, "They belong to Torin Grayrider!"

"But…but…" the older man tried to answer, but she was already gone, racing back to Battlehorn to find anything she could on the location of Frostcrag Spire.

Alessia had gone through all his papers and all she had found was a bill from 'The Mystic Emporium' in Imperial City for various pieces of furniture and exotic items of a magical nature. She had been inside two of his houses at this point and they did not contain these objects. It was unlikely the cozy homes in Cheydinhal could accommodate such pieces, and unless he had some secret rooms she knew nothing about, she could only assume these items were intended for the tower of his wizard uncle. **Someone** had to deliver the goods…and that meant someone knew where Frostcrag Spire was. The name on the receipt was Aurelinwae. She and Torin had met this woman before to purchase supplies. Alessia had to hope the dark elf would be cooperative. She made her way back to Imperial City. The one thing she had taken that Torin had left to her was his horse, a great white stallion, fast and strong. With his magnificent steed, she hoped to make up some of the distance between them.

She thought about it the whole way from Chorrol. It made perfect sense for Torin to be at Frostcrag. Alessia interpreted the fact he had not left the wizard tower to her to mean he did not want her there. It was possible, of course, that he had left it to someone else. But her intuition told her that it was not just his home now, but the prison to which he had sentenced himself. In his undoubtedly weakened state, he had made a mental mistake. He had not sufficiently covered his tracks.

Aurelinwae was not immediately obliging about the location, though she did remember Alessia, mercifully. The elven woman had been sworn to secrecy by Torin's uncle, the builder of the Tower. The old eccentric mage was bent on retaining his privacy for his magical experiments far away from prying eyes.

"Please…the old mage is dead. He has no need of your silence anymore. Torin is in grave danger. I must find him. I only want to help him," Alessia entreated.

Aurelinwae studied her for a moment gauging the young woman's sincerity. "How is it that you have traveled with him all this time and **he** has not told you where to find it?" she asked casually.

"You know what we have been doing…saving towns all over Cyrodiil from the Oblivion threat. There has been no time. I know only that it is hidden in the Jerall Mountains and that you supplied these items for it," she said, feeling her desperation rise as she thrust the receipt into Aurelinwae's hands.

"You could have stolen this," the elven woman said stubbornly.

Alessia's eyes welled in frustration. She fought back the tears unsuccessfully, wiping at her face as she spoke. "Please…I will give you all the septims I have. You must help me…he will suffer a terrible fate if I cannot get to him. I could not bear it if…I…I love him," she whispered, not bothering to hide her grief any longer.

At last, Aurelinwae nodded. "I believe you. Your grief is genuine and I believe that you do care for him," she said sympathetically. "But I had to be sure. Here girl, dry your eyes. I will draw you a map."


	14. Chapter 14

14.

"Bound By Blood"

It had taken her nearly a week to make her way to Frostcrag Spire, even on horseback. It was slow-going, the footing treacherous. The cold was bone-chilling, even through her furs. It hurt her to think of him in this harsh environment, cold and lonely and sterile as it was. When she finally saw the tip of the Spire over the mountain top, her heart soared. He was here…he had to be. If he was not…she did not know where else to look…she might never find him. No, she could not allow herself to think like that. He was here. She **felt** it.

Alessia stepped into the great tower apprehensively, not knowing what to expect…not knowing what she would find. It had been many days since that fateful night at Cloud Ruler Temple when she had last seen him. She knew he had not perished…he was immortal now. But she dreaded what condition he might be in. She dare not call out for him for fear he would flee her if he could.

It was a most bizarre place, clearly made for an eccentric old mage. There were no doors, only strange round platforms scattered about. Luckily, there was a book in the center of the entrance hall that explained how to use these magical portals that permitted access to different areas of the castle. She searched every corner of the tower for him to no avail. Her heart began to sink. There was only one place she had not yet looked…the vault. Alessia stepped through the portal, a lump in her throat. Instantly she was assailed by the screeching of a dozen winged imps. She was stunned only for a moment. Drawing her bow, she was preparing for a pitched battle when she saw **him**. Her heart leapt with joy. And for an instant she forgot that she was under siege, until a burst of lightning hit her and brought her to her knees. She shook off the shock and took evasive maneuvers, just avoiding a fire bolt sent her way. She ducked and ran to him. He was chained up, nearly unconscious and delirious. Imps were yet harassing her, but they had stopped their magical attacks since she had reached him. Is it possible they were protecting him? It made no sense, but neither did anything else in this strange magical tower. Alessia swatted at them as though they were flies.

She was shocked by the sight of him when she reached his side. He looked terrible…aged and drawn. "Torin!" she shouted in anguish, taking his gaunt face in her hands. It was heartbreaking to see him like this. She realized his plan now…he was not just isolating himself. He was enforcing his own starvation, locking himself up to keep from losing control. Tears streamed down her face as she shouted at him, "Wake up! Torin!" The sniping imps were beginning to have an effect, even with her armor.

From far away, Torin heard her voice and struggled to return to reality. Alessia?! Here?! He shook off his stupor enough to realize she was under attack by his vault Guardians, the imps conjured by his uncle to protect his magical treasures. "Stop! Cease your assault!" he managed, using all his remaining strength to halt the attack on his beloved. The imps returned to their strange patrol, ignoring her now. Torin collapsed again at the exertion. "You…should not be here…." he slurred.

She cradled him in her arms. "Torin, my love, what have you done? I cannot let you do this thing. I cannot let you sacrifice yourself like this," she said plaintively.

"No…a man…not a monster…I will not…I am a man…" he moaned deliriously.

To see him in such agony was heart-wrenching. In that moment, she made a decision. Alessia teleported back to the main chamber and found a large goblet, returning quickly to his side. Then she pulled out her dagger and cut her wrist. The blood began to flow freely from the wound and she collected it carefully in the cup. When it was full and she began to feel faint, she staunched the bleeding and took a healing potion, wrapping her arm tightly. Then she lifted his head and leaned in to whisper to him. "Drink this, my love. It will give you strength."

His eyes fluttered open. "No…no blood…Alessia…no…you cannot…" he pleaded.

"My darling, I am unharmed and it is done. Drink…please…I beg you!" she responded anxiously.

"Please…if you love me…you will leave, before you get sick again…" he entreated weakly.

Alessia looked at him a long moment, deliberating. He was as hard-headed as she was. Yet she knew a way to reach him. It was blackmail, pure and simple. But he would acquiesce, and she knew it. And, in truth, she would do anything now…say anything…to bring him back. "I will **never** leave you," she said in a low somber tone. "If you will not drink…if you will not try to come back to me…if you no longer have the will to fight to stay with me, then I will stay with **you**. I will hold you in my arms until my own strength fails me, until I draw my last breath. But it will be at your side. Would you have me die here then?" she challenged.

"Nooo! I forbid it…" he said as sharply as his condition allowed.

She laughed bitterly. "You are hardly in a position to stop me, my Grayrider," she retorted. Then her voice softened. "Torin…I…I cannot let you quit! I will not let you give up…not on yourself, not on us! Please! Will you not struggle against this…to be with me? Does it matter to you no longer?" she asked plaintively.

"I…you know…that is untrue, but…would you have me live a life that preys on innocents? Would you…have me be Seridur?" he labored.

Alessia cut him off. "Nooo…but I would have you fight. I would have you help me search for an answer. Let me help you…drink of my blood and regain your strength so that I may speak to you of getting your life back. There is a chance, Torin, but you must come back to me now," she begged.

Alessia stroked his hair, her heart breaking for him, his red eyes betraying his terrible conflict. She understood. He was noble and honorable. She knew he was repulsed by what he had become. He did not want to hurt anyone. He did not want to leech the life force of another to supply his own. So he had isolated himself from the world to save it. She could not blame him for his decision. But she would not let him spend eternity like this. She would not let him suffer the terrible loneliness before madness took him, before he fell comatose. "Torin…" she entreated softly, tilting the cup to his lips. Their eyes locked. "Please…I love you so," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. His lips parted at last and he accepted her offering. She breathed a sigh of relief and a joyous smile lit up her face.

* * *

Alessia had found the key and unlocked his chains. She laid his head in her lap, caressing his face as the blood she had given him began to take effect. His features softened, the lines faded, and the face she had grown to love returned to her anxious eyes.

Torin sat up suddenly and grimaced at her, "You should not be here! I drank only because I will not let you perish at my side. Do you not realize I have done all that I could to save you? You would throw it away?!" he asked her, upset that she was even there.

She got up, preparing for the argument she knew was coming.

He had thought of her, fantasized about her, dreamed of her for weeks, and now she stood before him more beautiful than his tortured mind remembered. It was nearly impossible to be angry with her, he loved her so. And she looked so anguished.

"And does my love for **you** mean nothing? Is what I feel for you of any less import than what you feel for me? Do you not realize that I had to do all that **I** could to save **you**?" she returned gently.

His lips parted in surprise. He took a deep breath. She had done no more than he had done for her. He nodded in acceptance of her truth.

"Torin, listen to me now. I have been to the Arcane University in hopes of finding a cure. I spoke to the mage Raminus Polus and he said we should go to Skingrad and talk to Count Janus Hassildor. He seemed to think the Count might be able to help us. We have a chance, Torin. There is a cure for you, my love, I **know** it. We just have to find it. Tell me you will come with me, that you will help me reclaim our lives together," Alessia said.

It stunned him to hear that there might be a cure. He understood vampirism to be incurable…that once the porphyric hemophilia disease had progressed past three days, there was no hope. He had not quit the fight. He had thought the fight could not be won…that his fate was etched in stone. But now… He took her by the shoulders. "Are you sure? Is it possible?" he asked, a light shining in his eyes for the first time since this had started.

She smiled vulnerably. "I believe in my heart it is," she assured him. "You need not suffer starvation or indignity any longer. You need not be alone. Until we have found the answer, my blood will sustain your body and my love will sustain your heart."

"But…I will make you sick…the porphyria…you will contract it," he lamented.

"Yes, I will. But I have brought many potions for just that purpose. I will cure the disease before it can transform me. We will keep the vampirism at bay until you need my blood no longer," she said bravely.

He was torn. A chance. But she would pay the price for his grasping at it…

"Torin, I beg of you. Please. We have to try. I cannot bear the thought of losing you now. All that I am I give to you. You already have my heart, my soul. Now, I would give you my life's blood to keep you in this world…to keep you at my side until we can find a cure. Do not reject my gift. Do not spurn my help. I **need** you. The Empire needs you. I love you…Torin…" Alessia pleaded emotionally.

He gazed at her for a long moment considering her words. They would have been **his** words if she had been in this position. He would have begged her to let him help her…to let him support her until they could find the answer. He felt her suffering keenly. In that moment, he decided. This was a woman to die for…and this was a woman to live for. "Then let us fly to Skingrad," Torin said hopefully.

Alessia smiled in gratitude and nodded. Soon, they would find the answer…in Skingrad. Hassildor would help them. He had to.

* * *

They walked for a time in awkward silence, anxiety and uncertainty marring their reunion.

Torin spoke suddenly, as though it was something he had been brooding on a while. "You knew I would not let you perish at my side when you gave your ultimatum," he said matter-of-factly without looking at her. It was a statement, not a question.

Alessia stole a quick glance at his face, but he kept his eyes on the road ahead as he walked, and his features were unreadable. She could not tell if he was upset at her for forcing his hand. She had manipulated him and she felt no small dishonor in the act. Still, she had been desperate. She redirected her gaze to the path before her. "Yes," she returned softly, a hint of shame in her voice.

"So, when you said it, you had no intention of…" he began.

"I **meant** what I said…" she cut him off emotionally, "I would not leave you behind. But…I also knew you would not let me die. I…did what I had to…"

He nodded. "So…it seems you are not above committing extortion to get your way," he observed without malice.

"It…seems I am not…when the goal I aspire to is of such great importance…" she said carefully. There was a long pause and she could not tell what he was thinking. "And…I tell you now, though it does me no credit, I would do it again," she added willfully.

One eyebrow went up, and a slight smile curled the corner of his mouth. "You are much too stubborn…" Torin commented lightly, "…not unlike a pack mule."

She was taken aback at his remark, but only for a moment, for she quickly realized he was teasing her now. She felt herself visibly relax. "And **you** are much too proud," she returned grinning, "Not unlike a strutting peacock."

He smiled broadly at that.

She slipped her hand in his as they walked. His fingers entwined in hers. It would be alright now.

* * *

He felt the hunger gnawing at him. Desperately, he tried to ignore it, to avoid taking her blood. But he was becoming more feral…his eyes reddening. And strong as he was, no mortal could stand on his own against the cruel curse of Molag Bal. He had chained himself up to beat the Daedric Prince. But his Alessia would have none of it. Yet she had given him hope, where before there was none.

They were camped under the stars in the Great Forest. She realized he could not travel in the daylight any longer without feeding. Alessia came to him, because she knew he would do all that he could not to come to her…not to ask her for her blood. "It is time," she said softly.

He winced. "I…you don't have to…" Torin started.

She looked at him sympathetically. "Yes, we do. You must keep up your strength," she said, stepping up to him. She reached up to caress his face.

Torin turned away from her touch. "I am not…I am an abomination. Do not look upon me so," he said with self-loathing.

She frowned. Her slender fingers turned his face back to her. "You are **not** an abomination. You are a **man**…you are…the beat of my heart. You have been the victim of an evil villain and the terrible disease he carried. I will not shun you for sacrificing yourself for me. I will not let you turn from me as though what is between us is only a shallow physical desire. I **love** you. We will overcome this…we will find you a cure. You will be free of this scourge, I swear it. But first, you must survive. I can help you, Torin…**let** me help you."

She pulled her hair back and presented her neck to him tentatively, urging him with pleading eyes.

He looked grieved. The faint scars of the wounds where Seridur's fangs had punctured her sensual neck were visible to his keen sight. His fingers touched them gingerly. It pained him to think of re-injuring her. "How do I know you are not entranced? That you do not offer yourself to me because you are under my spell?"

She smiled. "I have been under your spell since first I met you, my love. And it has nothing to do with vampirism."

He was too distraught to react to her humor then.

Alessia saw the distress on his face, and slid her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "It's alright," she whispered.

He kissed her neck tenderly and murmured in her ear, "I love you."

"I know. Do what must be done. I will be alright, my Grayrider," she said softly.

"Forgive me," he murmured finally.

She inhaled sharply as she felt his teeth sink into her soft flesh. But it was not like before, when Seridur had bitten her…when there was a violence to it…a violation that had made her cry out and reach for Torin. Now it was…strangely erotic…sensual. She found herself clutching his head, pressing him into her, as her blood was drawn from her...as she gave her life energy to replenish his. It was the most intimate moment they had ever shared, knowing she was sustaining him…that her blood flowed in him now, that she was truly part of him. She felt a peculiar mix of weakness and pleasure. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, his teeth had withdrawn from her and there were only his lips on her neck. She moaned and pulled his mouth to hers. He tasted of iron. She knew it was her own blood on his lips, but at that moment, she did not care. She could only think that she was on fire for him.

Torin pulled back and shook his head. "No…I will not join with you. Until I am a man again…I will not join with you," Torin said adamantly. He gave her an agonized look and stepped away. The look of sorrow on his face matched her own, and she bowed her head in grief.

* * *

Sleep was something he did not need much anymore. He watched her slumber, mesmerized by the gentle rising and falling of her breast. She was so beautiful, it made his heart ache. He could not have imagined the torment he would be suffering now if she were the one that had been turned…that had refused to feed…that had chained herself up to spend eternity alone in madness. As terrible as this curse was for him…as difficult as it was to bear, physically and emotionally, it was nothing compared to the anguish he would have felt, the grief he would have suffered if she had been the one that became a vampire. He smiled grimly…a mirthless smile of his own fateful choice remembered. Even now when his pain was paramount, his hunger clawing at him…even now, he would do it again to save her from this lot.

Her groaning pulled him from his grim thoughts. She was having a nightmare…tossing her head, crying out his name.

Torin fell to his knees and lifted her into his arms, "Shh…it's alright, I'm here. It's just a bad dream. Everything's going to be alright. Shhhh….go back to sleep," he said, rocking her gently.

Alessia woke up only enough to realize she was in his arms…and that was enough. Enough to settle her fears for now. She smiled sleepily at him and caressed his face lightly, before nestling into his embrace, her hand gripping his tunic possessively and pulling him tightly to her.

He felt her relax again moments later and she was asleep again. For the rest of the night he held her like that, not wanting to disturb her exhausted slumber. Sleep was something he did not need much anymore.

* * *

They arrived in Skingrad under cover of night, Torin cloaked to protect his identity and his appearance. Alessia approached Hal-Liurz, Skingrad's steward, who gushed to see them again, though, in truth, the Argonian woman was not certain at first it was Torin with the young woman who had fought at his side to close the Skingrad Oblivion Gate. Alessia assured her it was and that they urgently needed to see the Count. Normally, Hal-Liurz would have balked at such a request without an appointment. But they were heroes in Cyrodiil and they merited special treatment. She hurried off to fetch the elusive Count Hassildor.

Hal-Liurz came back moments later. "The Count will see you in the study," she said, leading them to the room where Janus Hassildor awaited them, then disappearing down the hall. They entered, and Torin was struck immediately by it…the sense that he was among his own kind. It stunned him. He had not realized that the Count of Skingrad was…

The surprised look on the Count's face indicated he, too, had picked up on Torin's condition. He nodded his understanding. "It seems things have changed for you, young adventurer, since last we met," Hassildor said cryptically.

Torin pulled off the hood, seeing no need for subterfuge anymore. This man…this vampire…would not be put off by him. "I…have come to ask you for help," he started, "I…did not know why until just now…we were told only that you might know of a cure…not that you were a vampire yourself…"

Alessia watched in amazement. They had seemed to recognize each other in some strange unspoken communication.

"And so you seek an audience with Count of Skingrad, secret vampire, in hopes of ending your curse?" he said sympathetically, "I do not see it as a curse, you know. I did fifty years ago when my wife Rona and I were first bitten…"

Torin and Alessia exchanged startled glances.

Hassildor smiled grimly. "Yes, she, too, is a vampire. But where I came to embrace the changes in my body, my wife was horrified and repulsed at what we had become…"

Alessia slipped her hand in Torin's and held it firmly in understanding.

Torin's heart swelled at her simple gesture.

Hassildor continued, "I tried to help her, but she could not accept it," he said sadly. "She… refused to feed and grew weaker until she starved herself into a coma. She has been cared for by my staff all this time, but now I seek…peace for her. Now I want the cure for **her**, so her nightmare is over," he struggled.

"So there **is** a cure?" Alessia leaped, tightening her grip on Torin's hand.

Hassildor nodded. "I think there is. At least…there **was**. I believe we can assist each other. If you…will help me to…end her torment by bringing her the cure as well, I will tell you what I know," the Count said emotionally.

Torin felt a great surge of hope then. But it was mixed with empathy for the Count's plight. He felt the greatest compassion for Hassildor to know the suffering of his wife…to know that the only way to ease that suffering was to let her die…to let her go forever. He understood the man's reluctance for all these years just as he understood his desperation now. It was a terrible decision. If it had been Alessia…Torin shuddered involuntarily.

"What must we do?" Alessia asked excitedly.

"It is said there is a coven of witches, the witches of Glenmoril, who had found a cure many years ago, but I have scoured the countryside for them and been unable to locate them. Perhaps they no longer exist. Still I must try. If…I have waited too long, I will not be able to forgive myself. They were known to live somewhere in the wilderness south of Cheydinhal along the Corbolo River, but that is all I know. Please, help me end my wife's suffering."

Alessia stepped up then. "We will help you. We will find the cure, and end the suffering of both our loved ones," she said adamantly, looking soulfully back at Torin.

* * *

They wandered the wilderness of the Nibenay Basin near the Corbolo River for days before they came across a small cottage called Drakelowe, occupied by a kindly but cryptic old woman named Melisande. She wouldn't admit to being a witch of Glenmoril, but thought she could make up a potion if they could find the right ingredients. Alessia threw herself into Torin's arms, elated that his trial would soon be over.

They struck a bargain with the old woman and set about the task of finding the items they needed. But the potion required a number of exotic ingredients. It would not be easy.

* * *

Luckily, he had enough bloodgrass and nightshade with him, but Alessia had been the one to recover the garlic, keeping it far from him in his present condition. The blood of an Argonian was required as well, and while Melisande had provided the ritual dagger to obtain it, Torin had balked at using it on some unsuspecting innocent. But Alessia had taken care of that, too. She had recalled the story he had told her of his rescue of a young Argonian woman from sacrifice at the hands of cultists in the isolated village of Hackdirt. A trip to Chorrol yielded success - both Dar-Ma and her grateful mother Seed-Neeus volunteered the necessary blood to aid Torin.

Then came the last and most daunting task. They must bring back the ashes of the most powerful and infamous vampire in eastern Tamriel…Hindaril. The mention of his name brought a shudder to many. No one had been able to kill him and countless had tried. Conventional methods had resulted in failure. Finally, he had been tricked, and imprisoned in an underground cavern to end the threat he posed. Now, they would have to confront him and slay him to gain the ash this cure required. They headed south, to the easternmost split in the North Panther River called Redwater Slough, to face the challenge of the master vampire.

Torin had been extremely reluctant to take her with him to face Hindaril after what had happened with Seridur. But she stubbornly insisted, refusing to leave his side…refusing to let him walk into that cave alone.

"No, Alessia, please. Let me do this. You fed me last night and I am strong again. And I can do things you cannot…I will be alright," he assured her.

She folded her arms and looked at him skeptically. Then she poked her finger at his chest. "You think because you have these special powers that you are invincible? Ha!" she scoffed. "If you come across a mage that knows a fire spell or a fire-enchanted weapons you could be vanquished. And what if Hindaril is not alone? What if there are many with your abilities? No, I will go and protect you," she said firmly, her hands on her hips, a playful tone in her voice.

Torin's eyebrows rose in disbelief. He did not know what to say. "I…you…" he sputtered. Then he gave up, and laughed heartily. "You are impossible!" he said, shaking his head.

He smiled at her…a lover's smile that made her heart skip a beat.

"Come on then, my stubborn warrior queen. I think perhaps I will need all the protection you can provide," he said, taking her hand and pulling her behind him.

Redwater Slough turned out to harbor a nest of vampires. It did not matter. They were no match for a vampiric Torin and his wildcat paramour. They reached Hindaril and after a pitched battle, the master vampire was no more. They collected the ash they needed for the cure and struck out for Drakelowe once more.

"Thank you," Torin said as they exited the cave.

Alessia looked at him questioningly.

"For protecting me," he said, tongue-in-cheek, a wry grin on his face.

A slow smile spread across her lips. "You are most welcome, my love. I will always keep you from harm. You need fear nothing if I am at your side," she teased, returning his sarcasm.

He laughed and put his arm around her waist, pulling her to him as they walked together. Torin thought to himself there was more truth in her words than she would ever know. "Then perhaps you should always be at my side, to keep me warm and safe," he suggested.

She smiled. "Perhaps I should," she replied coyly.

* * *

Alessia thought it best to for him to feed before they began their journey with Melisande. So when they came within sight of the cottage, she took his hand and pulled him into a thick copse of trees. "Torin…" she said softly.

"No," he replied, a pained look on his face. They were so close now. He could not bear the thought of…of taking from her again.

"We must…you will never make it to Skingrad if you do not. You are too weak," she beseeched him. She pulled him to a great tree and leaned against it, turning her neck to him.

"Please…I do not want to…no more…do not ask me to hurt you again," he begged.

Alessia smiled sadly at him then. "It is alright, my love. It does not hurt much. Come," she said softly, pulling his face to her throat.

He stopped as his lips contacted her skin.

She could feel his warm breath on her neck and felt a ripple of desire surge through her.

"This is the last time, Alessia. I swear it. No matter the outcome of this. I will not feed upon you again," he whispered with steely resolve.

She believed he meant it. As his teeth sunk into her, and she felt the warm rush…the light-headed giddiness that came with her blood flowing into him, she found herself praying to the Gods that the cure worked. She feared for him if it didn't.

* * *

Melisande created two quantities of the potion and made ready to go to Skingrad to monitor Rona Hassildor's treatment. "I must go oversee the process. As for you…the cure is harsh and recovery difficult. You will need looking after for several days to regain your strength. It will not be easy. And…there is a chance you will not survive the ordeal," the old witch warned.

Alessia turned to him, concern clouding her eyes. But she knew it was the only way. They had to risk it. He could not live like this. She took his hand and looked hard into his eyes. "I will take care of him. He **will** recover," she said softly, confidently.

They returned to Skingrad Castle and a torn Janus Hassildor led them to a secret chamber where his wife lay in a coma. Melisande performed a ritual to temporarily revive the Countess from her endless sleep. She awoke with a start.

"Quickly, you do not have much time," Melisande warned the Count.

Rona and Janus embraced in reunion.

"I'm sorry I waited so long…I should've acted sooner. I simply could not bear the thought of losing you…" Janus said emotionally.

Rona put her hand to his lips. "It is alright, my husband, I understand. Thank you for letting me go, for finally releasing me from my nightmare. I love you," she said tearfully.

"I will always love you. Goodbye, my darling," the count returned.

Alessia slid her hand in Torin's and squeezed it, her own emotions in turmoil.

The Hassildors embraced silently, then Janus offered his wife the potion lovingly.

Moments after she drank, she collapsed, dead…no longer a vampire, her life no longer unnaturally extended.

Janus fell to his knees, sobbing.

Alessia turned and buried her face in Torin's chest, thinking how she had almost lost him, how he had wanted her to let **him** go. He understood her sorrow and put his arms around her.

"Leave me…please…leave me to my grief," Janus asked them.

They nodded and left, intent on Torin's treatment now. His outcome they expected to be very different. Hassildor had graciously given them access to a small cottage he owned in the countryside near Skingrad. They would need privacy and seclusion for his recovery. It was a sign of his gratitude for the release of his wife.

Torin was weak now. He had refused to feed on Alessia anymore. Every time he took from her he felt vile. He could not stand it anymore. If this did not work…

They boarded up the house to keep the sun out. She put him to bed and prepared everything as Melisande had instructed her. Then she approached him and knelt beside him. She stroked his hair and stared into his eyes for a few moments. "I love you, Torin," she whispered emotionally.

He smiled back and willed his hand to her face, caressing it lightly. "I love you, Less," he struggled.

She took a deep breath and lifted the potion to his lips gently. Torin drank and grimaced in pain, lapsing into unconsciousness. Alessia had been told what to expect, but it did not make it easier to watch it unfold before her…to see him suffer and slip away from her. She took his hand in hers and held it to her face, closing her eyes and willing him to heal…to come back to her the man she loved. Then she laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart beat until she fell asleep from exhaustion.

* * *

She kept vigil for four days, leaving his side only to take care of his needs. It had been terrible. He had slept fitfully the whole time, tormented by nightmares. Fever racked his body as he tossed and turned deliriously.

On the fifth morning, Torin woke up. He felt…different…tired, but not weak like when he had not fed. He realized Alessia was holding his hand, slumped over his bedside in an exhausted sleep. He smiled tenderly. Then he noticed the sun seeping in through the cracks in the boarded up windows. It was daylight. And he realized he had to know…first, before Alessia. He had to know if he was a man again…if he could ever be with her. He glanced down at her slumbering form apprehensively. Then he slid his hand out from under hers and rose from the bed. He felt alright. It was time to test this cure. It was time to face the sun. He stopped in the doorway, suddenly gripped by fear. It was a warm spring afternoon, and he found himself half-expecting the terrible pain that had accompanied his ventures out during the day since this nightmare had begun. He took a deep breath.

Alessia awoke with a start. He was gone! She started to panic, fearing the treatment had failed and he had fled to spare her. She bolted for the door in time to see him walk out of it and into the midday sun. Then she realized he was not running away, but testing the efficacy of the cure. She stepped back into the shadows to watch. Though Alessia longed to be at his side, to offer him support, he clearly wanted to be alone to learn the answer. And she understood. It had been a terrible ordeal for him…indeed, for them both.

Torin advanced slowly, not fearful of the pain he might encounter, but of what it would mean. As the warm rays touched his skin, he realized with growing elation that it did not hurt. No pain, no burning. He spread his arms absorbing the glorious warmth, basking in the sunlight. It doesn't burn! It doesn't **burn**, he thought, letting the sun warm him once more as it had in days before. His eyes closed rapturously, a jubilant smile on his handsome face.

Alessia brought her hand to mouth to try to hold back her emotion. But it overwhelmed her. He was her Torin again! His features were that of the man she loved and he was savoring the sunshine that only a few days ago he hid from in an act of self-preservation. She laughed through her tears when she saw him whirl around giddily, his arms outstretched, welcoming the precious rays of warmth which had so recently tortured him.

Torin turned at the sound of her joyous laughter. He grinned so happily at her that she could keep away no longer. Alessia ran to him and threw herself into his arms, crying and laughing. He embraced her and spun her around excitedly. "It's over, Less. It's over. I'm free of this horrible curse at last!" he cried emotionally.

Alessia nodded, unable to speak.

He gazed at her lovingly through eyes that were crystal blue once more. "It's because of **you**, Alessia. You wouldn't let me give up. You fought for me. You fought for **us**," he said gratefully. Then he caressed her face gently. "You…gave me my life back," he whispered as he leaned in and pressed her lips tenderly.

Her heart was pounding fiercely. "Torin…" she whispered, "Promise me you will not run from me again…as long as you love me…" she pleaded.

"I would rather die than lose you again. If it is humanly possible, I will be at your side. And if it is not possible, I will shake the very foundations of the Nirn and Mundus until the Gods themselves take pity on my hapless soul and make it possible," he vowed.

Alessia grinned at his bold declaration. "Should the Gods tremble then, at my Grayrider's approach?" she teased.

He returned her smile sheepishly. "I would not dishonor them by suggesting such a thing. I am but a man who would move heaven and earth to be with you," he replied, his face growing serious.

Alessia smiled enigmatically. "If there ever was a man who could do so…" she purred seductively. She ran her finger along the scar on his jaw and pressed her lips to it gently. Then she kissed him, long and slow.

She was an enchantress…he was sure of it. For she had just made the world disappear around him. And there was nothing left but her warm, sweet lips. He lifted her in his strong arms, laid her down on the grass, and made love to her under the warming rays of the sun, welcoming him back to humanity.


	15. Chapter 15

15.

"Razor Blade"

"I am sorry for all I have put you through," he said sadly as she lay on his chest.

Alessia lifted her head to look at him, the memory of that grievous time returning to her.

Torin's eyes misted over. "Martin once said the bitter wisdom that one has been a fool is not without value. It is so. I was too harsh in my judgment. I made you pay too great a price for trusting the wrong men. For that I am truly sorry. You did not know me. You had no real reason to trust me over them. And the Gods know **I** am not perfect. It is not for me to judge. Can I expect mercy when I show not mercy? Truly, I have made mistakes in my life that I would undo given the chance," he said ruefully, his own past rising up in front of him, taunting him.

Alessia saw the tortured turn his face had undergone. She knew where he was. "You speak of the dagger now…the one that plagues you even in the holding of it," she said intuitively, her soft voice soothing.

Torin was astonished. How could she know? He had deflected her when she inquired on it. He had never spoken to anyone of its meaning. It was his curse…his hidden shame.

"Do you think I have not noticed how it haunts you? It is a part of your past that you hide in sorrow. It is a demon that you will not discard and you will not destroy. You punish yourself in the carrying of it. I do not know what significance it holds for you…only that it pains me to see the hurt it causes you…the hurt that you think you hide from me. I…understand your need to keep your secret now. But one day…one day I will ask you of it and you will tell me," she said gently, "And the power it holds over you will be no more."

Then she kissed him, and the hated memory fled his brain.

* * *

Three days later, he was well enough to pick up the mantle again…the responsibility to help save the Empire that had been laid at his feet by Uriel Septim. He had rested and loved, recovered his strength and exhausted his energies. It was physically and emotionally replenishing for him to spend those three days with her. He felt revitalized…complete. Now, he needed to put an end to Dagon's plans.

But there was something important Torin wanted to do first. So instead of going directly to Bruma, he led Alessia to Cheydinhal to his home there. This madness was escalating. There might never be another chance. He had kept it secret all these years. No one knew. No one. And he had never wanted anyone to before now. But he loved this woman. And he needed her to know. It was time to tell her the truth…about everything.

* * *

The house in Cheydinhal was a wonderfully cozy and charming place…not large, but inviting and warm. Alessia knew it would be. Though it was neither the largest nor the most elegant of his homes, she could be happy living here. The thought surprised her. They had not discussed anything past all this chaos.

Torin walked up to her with a book in his hand and a solemn look on his face. Alessia was concerned by his demeanor, but she said nothing. He took her by the hand and led her to sit with him before the fireplace. She was becoming apprehensive, but kept her silence as he struggled to find words. Twice he started to speak, but found the words stuck in his throat. Finally, she helped him. "What is the book you have brought?"

He looked down at it with an expression she could not define…was it disgust? Bitterness?

"It…is a book concerning Dagon…" he stammered.

"Dagon? Does it contain some clue to ending this madness?" she asked, reaching for it.

"No. It is…unrelated. But…it is important…it will help me explain…" he answered haltingly.

Alessia looked at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. She looked at the book, Varsa Baalim and the Nefarivigum. It meant nothing to her.

"Chapter the Tenth," he said softly.

Alessia opened the book and began reading:

_I will not be the first scholar to point to a combination of benign intent and arrogance on behalf of the Ayleids as the source of many ruinous affairs for the old heartland elves._

_The Nefarivigum, a foul construct of Mehrunes Dagon, was erected to be ever watchful for the pilgrim who would approach it and best a trial of worth. It is said that such a pilgrim would be rewarded with the blessing of Mehrunes' Razor, a vicious blade through which Dagon himself can claim the very souls of those it strikes._

_MSerae Faythung__ was once Mehrunes Dagon's champion, but he had somehow failed the cruel and capricious Daedra Prince. As punishment, "The Kyn" carved his chest open with Mehrunes Razor and doomed him to stand statue-like in the Nefarivigum and guard the sacred dagger. Should anyone attempt to retrieve the Razor, he would awaken and attack the interloper._

_Benign intent compelled Ayleid folk to seek out the Nefarivigum. Arrogance let them believe themselves capable of disbarring any who would seek the Razor. So was built Varsa Baalim, a great, ringed, labyrinthine city, during the height of Ayleid rule._

_Sure as death, pilgrims came to Varsa Baalim, and for years the Elves drove back many, until it came to pass that a vampire slipped into the city unnoticed. Merfolk were touched with the foul affliction, throwing the city into a gathering storm of madness and ruin, and soon it seemed none was left to prevent the Razor from being recovered._

_Then, suddenly, Varsa Baalim was gone. Historic accounts dispute whether it happened through some final safety, a natural cataclysm, or by the touch of the Divines__themselves. Whatever the cause, history agrees on the result: the mountains of the Eastern Niben swallowed Varsa Baalim, and the Nefarivigum with it, where has remained hidden since the early days of the First Era._

_If the tale is true, then somewhere on the eastern fringes of the Niben Valley, where man's rule has scarcely reached through the years, the Nefarivigum still lies in wait, among a city of unliving abominations entombed within the cold bowels of the mountain._

When she had finished reading, she looked at him questioningly. "I don't understand. Do you think this weapon can be used against him?" she asked. The look of pain on his face was so profound that she realized she was not on the right track. Then it struck her, and her eyes grew wide with shock. Alessia's stunned expression melted into a compassionate sympathy. "Tell me. Tell me now of the dagger that troubles you so, my Grayrider," she said softly.

He slumped into the chair next to her with a great sigh. He could not look at her. But at last he began to speak. Alessia had to strain to hear him, so weak was his voice as he described his great sin. "I was young and ambitious. I had a meager iron sword, but it was not enough. I wanted an advantage that would make me a great adventurer. I wanted…a powerful weapon. I had heard the tales. Then I came across the book, quite by accident, and I knew where to start looking. The lost city of the Ayleids, Varsa Baalim, was rumored to house the powerful Daedric artifact that could banish souls to Oblivion with a single strike. After some searching, I found it, located under Sundercliff Watch in the Eastern Niben. But I was not the first. It had been unearthed by a rogue Telvanni arch-mage named Drothan in pursuit of the Razor. I found his journal there. He believed it would give him the power he needed to topple the Empire. Drothan had been trying to raise a secret army to move against the Emperor and needed only the Razor to lead them. He had gone into the buried city in search of the 'Nefarivigum' that was said to protect Mehrunes' vaunted dagger. I fought my way through his few recruits with little difficulty and finally killed the mad Drothan himself. Then I was forced to slay Dagon's champion, Faythung, who attacked me to keep me from taking the Razor back into the world of men. But in my impatience to gain the prize I sought, I had not taken the time to read the entire journal…"

Torin hesitated. Trafficking with Dagon was bad enough, but he could not bear the look of repulsion he expected in her eyes when he revealed the rest. Then he thought of her words when he asked her why she was going to tell him of her betrayal when she didn't have to. "It was a lie between us. We could not build something as long as it stood." And he knew he owed her the truth, whatever the outcome. Taking a deep breath, Torin continued, "I read that to claim the Razor, I had to…eat the heart of the champion. I had to consume the foul essence of Dagon's defender," he said, his hatred for himself plainly evident.

Alessia stifled a gasp.

"At first, I was repulsed by the idea, but…I was young and brazen and had come far for the prized weapon. I…did what I had to so that I could claim my…reward. My body was riddled with disease for my action. I cured myself easily enough with potions. But in truth, it was not just my physical form that was sickened, but my soul. From the instant I ingested the flesh, regret tore at me. It was as though I had consumed evil itself. And I was not an evil man, nor did I wish to be. I was simply brash and too ambitious for my own good. I came for a formidable blade to make my fortune, but my prize for my efforts was guilt and shame and sorrow. From that moment on, the power of the dagger held little allure for me. The darkness that emanated from it made me ill. I tucked it away, determined no other should ever know my guilt or the foulness that corrupted the knife. I had slain the protector of the Razor. It was left to me to take his place…except my role would not be to protect it **for** Dagon, but to save the world from its wickedness," he finished, bowing his head. "Many times have I tried to destroy the tainted dagger, but it would not be destroyed…mocking me in its immortality. And so, it is my burden to bear for the rest of my life. I was but a foolish, prideful boy, trying to make my mark on the world at any price, even at the cost of my soul. I have borne the guilt and regret in silence for these many years. I do not seek to excuse it, for there can be no excuse. But…I wanted **you** to know…the truth…my shame," he said haltingly.

The tears streamed down her face as she listened to his confession, recognizing he was baring his soul to her at last, that this was the dark past of the dagger that he so zealously guarded, that he so painfully protected. She moved to him.

Torin was genuinely fearful now. He could only imagine her reaction to such an admission. He forced himself to meet her eyes now, to accept her judgment. But he misunderstood her tears. "I…know you must be horrified…that you may never be able to look upon me again without seeing the monster that did this thing…I have spent my life trying to make up for it…" he started, his eyes wracked with grief and guilt.

Alessia fell to her knees in front of him and put her finger to his lips to allay his fear. Then she took both of his hand in hers and shook her head. "I see no monster. What you did was terribly wrong, yes. But I know the man you are now. That is not **you**. That was a youth with more courage than sense - reckless and foolish and impulsive, but not a monster. Even then, you felt the remorse for your act of greed. You have paid many times over for your lack of judgment. You have been saddled with your grief for so long it has nearly broken your back. Do not spend any more of your life haunted by guilt. Do not give Mehrunes Dagon that power over you. Do not give him his victory…the destruction of mortals that he seeks. Give it the merit of a terrible lesson learned, and no more…" She paused for a moment as a thought occurred to her. "Why did you not give it to Martin as a Daedric artifact? You could have been rid of it," Alessia asked.

"I…did not wish you to know of it then…to know I carried the prize weapon of the evil Prince we are trying to destroy…to know the power I once craved…the things I did. I was not ready to face it…to face **you** with my dishonor. And…perhaps…I do not deserve to be rid of it. It is my punishment…my penance for my wrongdoing. I could rid myself of the dagger, but I cannot rid myself of the **deed**," he acknowledged wretchedly.

"But Torin, you **do** deserve to be rid of it. Have you not atoned in a thousand ways, my love? All your good works? All the people you have helped…that you have saved?" she asked gently.

"No. It…will **never** be enough. It is for the Gods to decide if they can forgive me when I go to my grave. The weight of the Razor is my price to pay in this life," he said dejectedly.

Alessia gazed at him sadly, wishing there was something she could say that would ease him, knowing there was not. "Then we will protect the Razor together, you and I. We will be its guardians so that no others will know its dark temptation. I will share your burden, and in the sharing, half it. But release your self-loathing and become a whole man again, so that you can be with me and we can begin anew without the oppressive yoke you have borne all these years," she said lovingly.

Torin looked at her, astonished that she could forgive him so easily…that this horrible deed that had tortured him so long could be so readily accepted and absolved by her. "The Gods have given me a gift I can never repay," he whispered, pulling her to him and kissing her tenderly. When he released her lips, he hovered there, grazing them lightly. "Marry me," he whispered emotionally.

Alessia pulled back in surprise, searching his eyes, her own starting to glisten with tears of happiness.

"You will never doubt my feeling for you again, Alessia. Never again will I hold you at arm's length. I will strive for your every happiness and I will love you until my dying breath. Come, we'll stay in Cheydinhal for a few days, make preparations and go down to the orphanage and gather your Sisters and your friends. Mother Worthing can marry us! Say yes, Alessia…" he said earnestly.

Her mind raced, her thoughts tumbling over each other.

Alessia paused before answering him and his heart was filled with dread. Why would she hesitate?

"After this is over…when the madness has passed and Tamriel is safe from Dagon…" she started.

"You…do not wish to wed me?" he asked, hurt creeping into his eyes.

"My love," she said, taking his face in her hands, "I can think of nothing I want more than to bind myself to you forever…to share your life, to bear your children. But…I do not wish to do it in haste, immersed in chaos. I want it to be a day we will remember the rest of our lives…a happy event without looming disaster, with feasting and dancing," she said playfully, trying to lighten his mood.

Torin gave her a weak smile.

"It should be an act of love, not an act of desperation forced on us by the approaching shadow of Dagon. Tell me you understand, my Grayrider," Alessia pleaded.

Torin did understand. He nodded. "You….are right. Forgive my impatience. It is just that…I have carried my secret so long…borne my burden alone these many years. I never thought to find someone I could share it with…someone who would…who would love me in spite of it. I wanted only to…" he struggled, finding it difficult to express his feeling.

She slid her arms around his neck. "Oh Torin, I understand. You need not explain. Know that when this is done…when we have defeated Dagon, there is nothing that can stand in the way of me becoming your wife. I swear it," Alessia said.


	16. Chapter 16

16.

"The Needs of the Many, The Needs of the One"

They returned to Cloud Ruler Temple. Martin was overjoyed to see them alive and well. He had not known what to expect when Alessia had so impulsively raced off after Torin and he had feared for both their lives. To see them back safely and Torin cured as well was too much to hope for.

"My friends! Thank the Gods you are back, safe and sound! I was terribly worried!" Martin exclaimed, embracing Alessia, then grasping Torin's arm warmly. "I hope you can forgive me for betraying your confidence. I tried to respect your wishes, but Alessia is very stubborn…and she was very angry with me for withholding what I knew. In fact, I have never seen her like that. I don't mind telling you I was a little frightened. She is a fearsome warrior, this little spitfire. And she was so fiercely insistent about going after you I thought she would march off on her own without direction. Nothing I said would change her mind. She would not give up on you, my friend," Martin said.

Torin looked at Alessia, his eyes smoldering. "I know," he said softly, a hint of a smile marking his features.

Alessia burned under his gaze.

Torin returned his attention to his Emperor. "I have learned much about forgiveness these last weeks. It is not your fault. I knew she would be difficult to manage when I asked it of you. I could not have guessed she would be impossible…that she would pursue me so relentlessly. She is as stubborn a wildcat as ever I have met," he said affectionately, taking her hand.

Alessia flushed with pleasure. His pride in her was evident. She pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Perhaps I **am** stubborn, but I have never heard you complain about me being a wildcat," she said seductively. She kissed him, then bit his lower lip gently as she pulled away.

Torin smiled broadly. "And you never will. Because you are **my** wildcat," he murmured.

Martin began to feel uncomfortable. They were clearly in their own world and clearly wrapped up in one another. Yet, it was this great passion they held for each other that had seen them through such terrible ordeals. He cleared his throat to remind them he was there. "Yes. Well, while you were gone, I've made some progress in deciphering the Mysterium Xarxes ritual. I discovered the third item we needed was a Great Welkynd Stone. You may have run across lesser Welkynd Stones; they are fairly common in Ayleid ruins. But a Great Welkynd Stone was not easy to come by. They have been plundered one by one over the years, due to their great value to mages and occultists. There was only one place that was rumored to still contain one: the ruins of the Ayleid city of Miscarcand…a place where many have perished seeking its Great Stone. Fortunately, our Blades were successful in retrieving it. I never thought to see a Great Welkynd Stone in my lifetime! As beautiful as all the old tales tell. But of course its beauty is a mask for its deadly power, like everything crafted by the Ayleids. Now we need only one more item, and we'll be ready to open a portal to Mankar Camoran's realm..." the Emperor said, his confidence that they could succeed growing by the minute. "I should have seen it sooner…"

At that moment, Jauffre burst in. Martin stepped over to him and consulted in furtive tones with his Blade. Torin overheard little, but it was enough to concern him.

"With all due respect, Sire, there must be another way. The risk is too great!" Jauffre argued.

"I know the risk. I was at Kvatch. But there is no other way. We simply have no choice," Martin insisted.

"The Countess will never agree to it..." Jauffre started, shaking his head ruefully.

"She will. She must," Martin said firmly.

"Very well," Jauffre said sighing, "The Blades are, as always, at your disposal." He spun on his heels and left the room.

Martin returned to them. "Ah, yes, as I was saying…the last item we need. It's the counterpart to the Great Welkynd Stone, just as the first two were the opposed powers of the Daedra and the Divines. Welkynd stones contain the concentrated power of Mundus; their counterparts are Sigil stones, which are used to hold open Oblivion Gates. A Great Sigil Stone, then, is what we require," he said.

"A Sigil Stone? It seems too easy. What is the catch?" Alessia asked suspiciously. They had taken many Sigil Stones at this point. It could not be as simple as that.

Martin looked at them both apprehensively. "It is anything but simple, I'm afraid. You're not going to like it. Jauffre doesn't like it. The Countess of Bruma certainly isn't going to like it. **Great** Sigil Stones are the anchors of Great Gates. The kind of Gate the Mythic Dawn opened at Kvatch. The kind of Gate the Mythic Dawn wants to open here to destroy Bruma…" Martin said reluctantly, the implications obvious.

"So we **intentionally** let them open the Gate?" Alessia asked incredulously.

"I said you weren't going to like it. The risk is great, I know. I was at Kvatch. I saw the terrible power of the Daedric siege engine. But we have no choice. The only way to recover the Amulet of Kings is to allow the Mythic Dawn to proceed with their plan to attack Bruma," Martin answered sadly.

Torin and Alessia looked at each other, resigning themselves to the decision of the Emperor.

"At least you'll be safe here," Alessia said.

Martin shook his head. "No. I'll lead the defense of Bruma myself. If I am to be Emperor, it's time I started acting like one," he said resolutely.

"Noooo…" Alessia objected, suddenly worried for her friend, not her Emperor.

"It's too risky. I'll take charge of the Bruma forces," Torin asserted.

Martin smiled sadly. "Remember when we first met in Kvatch? I told you that I didn't want any part of the Gods' plan. I still don't know if there is a divine plan. But I've come to realize that it doesn't matter. What matters is that we **act**…that we do what's right when confronted with evil. That's what you did at Kvatch. It wasn't the Gods that saved us, it was you. Were you acting for the Gods? I don't know. But I suspect so. And now it's my turn to act. Do not attempt to dissuade me, my friends. My decision is final," the Emperor said resolutely.

Torin nodded, putting his arm around Alessia in support. His new Emperor was a brave man. He could not help but admire that. Martin would be a great leader. "It will be as you say," Torin replied.

"Please, my friend. I need you to explain to Countess Carvain. I'm afraid she may take a bit more convincing than you," Martin said.

"I'll inform the Countess at once," Torin answered.

"Good. Have her meet me in the Chapel of Talos for a Council of War. That seems a fitting place to make such desperate plans," Martin said solemnly.

Torin and Alessia explained the plan to Countess Narina Carvain, a shrewd woman who understood that in war there would be risks…and casualties. It could not be helped. By chance, her Bruma found itself at the center of a war with a Daedric Prince. And she knew he must be stopped at all costs.

They made their way to the Chapel of Talos to meet Martin.

"Your champion has already explained the situation to me. I have agreed to it. We will not win this war through caution, Your Highness," the Countess said wisely.

Martin smiled. "You have a rare gift, to know when desperation is the path of wisdom. I will do everything in my power to defend your city, milady," the new Emperor promised.

Narina nodded. "If Bruma falls, the Empire falls with us. So be it," the Countess said, holding her head high.

Torin marveled at the courage of the men and women around him. It gave him hope for victory. "My Emperor, what are your battle plans?"

"We must allow the Mythic Dawn to proceed with their plan to open three lesser Gates outside Bruma. According to the plans you captured from those spies, they need three lesser Gates open before they can open a Great Gate. The Great Gate will allow them to bring out the siege machine to blast the walls of Bruma, just like at Kvatch. But it's our only hope to get the Great Sigil Stone we need to complete the ritual. You'll have to act swiftly when the Great Gate opens. My place is on the battlefield. The time for hiding in Cloud Ruler Temple is over. Come, let us go down to battle together," Martin said with steely resolve.

A lesser Gate was already open by the time they reached the field outside Bruma. Martin gave a stirring speech to the soldiers of Cyrodiil…men and women who had come from all over Tamriel to assist in the defense of Bruma and the Empire. They cheered when he had finished and took defensive positions between the Gate and the city. Within minutes, hordes of Daedra began to pour out. The battle was pitched. Torin and Alessia stayed at the side of the Emperor with Jauffre, defending and protecting him as, one by one, three lesser Gates opened and spawned their Daedric combatants. There came a lull in the fighting between waves of Daedra. At last, the Great Gate they waited for opened.

"Now! Go Torin!" Martin shouted. "I do not know how long we can hold them! Run as fast as you can, and do not get caught up in needless skirmishes. If the Daedric Siege Engine gets through the Gate before you can close it, all is lost. Just as Kvatch was destroyed, Bruma will be gone and the Empire with it. Close the Great Gate and the others will close as well. Get us the Great Sigil Stone, man! Hurry!" Martin commanded.

Alessia started towards the Gate. Torin grabbed her arm and gazed at her soulfully for a moment.

Alessia's brow furrowed in confusion. Torin kissed her unexpectedly.

"I need you to stay here with Martin," he said firmly.

"No! There are many here who can protect him. I'm coming with you…" she said, digging in her heels.

He smiled at her stubborn streak. "Not **this** time, my love…" he said. Then he paralyzed her and immediately threw a shield around her to protect her until she could move again. The spells would only last a few minutes, but it would be enough. He would be through the Gate and on his way to recover the Great Sigil Stone. He would deal with her anger when he returned. That thought gave him pause…she was fiery in her lovemaking and her temper…but he would not risk her being killed in Oblivion. And he could not afford to stop and fight to defend her…not that she needed his help very often. She was a prolific warrior in her own right. But he would not gamble on it. Because if it came to it…if she was in trouble…he knew he would stop to help her. He would risk the Empire to save her. And that could spell the doom of them all. Time was of the essence now. Speed was everything. He had to make the right decisions and he had to make them quickly.

Her eyes flashed angrily at him.

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. Then he turned and ran through the Great Gate and into Oblivion.

Damn him for leaving me behind! But he had not been gone a moment when Alessia's anger turned to fear. Tears welled in her eyes. When she was with him…when they were fighting, there was no time for her to be concerned for him. And she was there to help him if he needed it…not that he needed her help very often. But her mind raced back to the Sigillum Sanguis in the Oblivion portal outside Skingrad, when he had come so close to perishing. If she had not been there… The paralysis faded and she found herself in the fight again. And there was no time to be concerned for him.

* * *

Torin ran and jumped and avoided. He fought very little, hurling occasional spells to slow or paralyze his opponent so that he could vault past them. It was his agility, his speed and acrobatics that were needed now. It was against his nature to run from a fight, but he saw the massive Daedric Siege Engine crawling toward the Gate and knew he had to get to the Great Sigil Stone quickly. He gauged he had only minutes…minutes before the world as he knew it came to an end. And Alessia was part of that world. Torin grit his teeth and pushed harder. He ran on instinct, more than once taking a wrong turn. But he had been in Oblivion enough to know the general layout of these giant winding Towers. At last, he found himself on the path to the greatest Tower…the one he knew must hold the Great Stone. He glanced back over his shoulder. The Engine was closing in on the Gate. Torin thought his lungs would burst, but he pressed harder and increased his speed. Demon after Daedric demon came at him, slashing, hacking, tossing spells. He prayed there would not be any burden or paralyze spells cast to slow him. Time was the one thing he could not overcome. He'd had no chance to repair his armor, and could only hope it would hold up under the onslaught. If it failed…no. He could not let himself think about that. He had to run…just run.

* * *

Alessia grew increasingly agitated. Torin, where are you, my love? The never-ending stream of Daedra was beginning to wear down the men. Poor Jauffre had already fallen, taking a blow meant for his Emperor, but, mercifully, he was not dead, and had been carted quickly off the field of battle. She was not sure how much longer they could hold. She offered up a warrior's prayer to the Gods as her daggers flew in deadly unison. As if in answer, within seconds, there was a great groaning noise and a blinding light as all four Gates closed simultaneously. Alessia brought her hand up to her eyes to shield them. He had done it! When her vision returned to her, she scanned the area where the Great Gate had been. There! Torin was on his knees gasping for breath. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the few scattered Daedra that remained, a Dremora Kynmarcher, lumbering toward him, weapon drawn. Nooo! Torin didn't see him. She sprinted towards him, unleashing a hail of enchanted arrows at the Daedric monster, slowing it down enough for her to reach Torin first. She stepped between him and the Kynmarcher, both daggers drawn, a grim and determined look on her face. She maneuvered her enemy away from her lover while Torin forced himself up. The Kynmarcher swung his claymore and Alessia dodged, coming up behind him and burying her daggers in his back. Then she rolled out of the way and Torin heaved his sword at the staggering Daedra, killing him instantly.

Torin fell back to one knee in exhaustion.

Alessia rushed to his side. "Are you alright?" she asked.

He nodded slowly, unable to speak.

"We won a great victory here today! You have done your Empire a great service! You have saved the lives of your families! Go and rest now. The war is not over yet, but the day's battle is won!" the Emperor declared to the cheers of the surviving soldiers.

Martin found Torin and Alessia and ran up to them. "Thank the Gods you are both well! You did it, Torin! I knew my faith in you was well placed! We now have the means to recover the Amulet of Kings from Mankar Camoran. But we need to act quickly. Camoran will not take long to recognize his danger. We cannot delay long or he may elude us again," Martin warned.

Torin struggled to rise.

"He needs to rest, Martin, can't you see that?!" Alessia asked, as irritated with Martin for pushing Torin, as she was with her lover for leaving her behind. She put her arm around Torin's waist and helped him up.

"Tomorrow then," Torin managed.

"Remember, the portal will close behind you. Gather your supplies today. Anything you need must be carried with you. I will return to Cloud Ruler Temple to make the necessary preparations. I'll have the ritual ready in the Great Hall when you arrive. Rest and I shall see you on the morrow. Farewell, my friends," Martin said.

* * *

They did not return to Cloud Ruler Temple that night, choosing to stay at the reasonably well-appointed Jerall View Inn in Bruma. Torin needed rest. And she needed privacy. They had to talk.

"You are angry with me, I know," Torin said to her as they made it into the room and he collapsed into a chair.

"Now is not the time for such discussion. Rest and we will talk later," Alessia said coolly. She helped him get his armor off and put him to bed.

"I'm sorry…you have…every reason to be…upset…I shouldn't have…" he struggled to say before the exhaustion took hold of him and he fell asleep mid-sentence.

She studied him a few moments. He looked like such an innocent now, sleeping soundly…so helpless, so vulnerable. She wondered idly what he was like when he was a boy. Alessia sighed. She wanted to be angry. She deserved to be angry. But it would be hard to stay angry with him. Torin had, after all, just saved them again. And she knew why he had done what he had. How upset could she be when he was motivated by love? Except that she loved **him**, too, and would be devastated by his death. He seemed to forget that when he made these rash choices. He could not keep taking her feelings so lightly, she vowed.

She would deal with her frustration later, when they had both rested…when their nerves were not raw and frayed…when their bodies were not racked with fatigue. But they had to come to an understanding. And she meant to make it clear how things would have to be when he woke up. She leaned over and kissed his forehead gently. Then she was overcome with feeling for him and took off her armor, lying down beside him, and nestling up against him. In his sleep, he instinctively pulled her to him. Alessia could not help but smile. She curled up on his chest and surrendered to her own weariness.

* * *

"Torin," Alessia said heavily. "You cannot continue to do this. You make my decisions for me without consulting me," she chastised him.

"I'm sorry. I could not be worried about your life and still reach the Sigil Stone at top speed…" he started to explain.

Her green eyes flashed in warning.

"Less," Torin continued defensively, "I…I just meant that with a second person it would be more difficult. I could not run my fastest knowing there was another person with me. If it was anyone else and something happened, I would have had to leave them behind and keep moving to get to the Sigil Stone in time. But if it were **you**…I could not. If it were **you** that went down, I would go back every time. I could not let you go with me and risk the fate of thousands on my love for you. Tell me you understand that," he pleaded, an aggrieved look on his handsome face.

"I…understand why you did it. I know you have always been a lone wolf…that you have always made your own choices, swift and sure. But you cannot make these decisions now without me if we are to be together. I am not some empty-headed, fragile female that you need speak for and coddle. You cannot decide things that affect both our futures alone. This is not something I ask of you. It is something I **demand**," she insisted.

"You would have fought me tooth and nail," he argued.

"Yes, I would have. Because we both know I am the faster, and you were trying to protect me…" Alessia began.

Torin opened his mouth to argue, but stopped. As fleet of foot as he was, she was yet swifter. And he **was** trying to protect her.

"But whatever the outcome," she continued, seeing he did not dare to dispute the point, "It would be a verdict we reached together, as partners…as equals in a relationship. Tell me you see this. Tell me that you will not act so rashly again without discussing it with me, at least. Tell me that you respect me enough to grant me this," she beseeched him.

Torin's eyes shone hard into hers and his mouth set grimly. "I **do** respect you, Alessia…but if I am being honest with you, I will tell you that if I think it will save your life, I will keep a secret from you. If I think that I can spare you an ounce of pain, I will forbid you to join me. And for those times, I will beg your understanding and your forgiveness. It is not about respect for you or your talents. I have only the greatest admiration for both. It is about my fear. I love you too much to risk you…I will always feel that way," he said.

Alessia sighed, thinking of her own desperate gambit to save him at Frostcrag, when she had been willing to do anything…to say anything to save him. "I know. Don't you see? **That** is why I **must** be at your side. Because I know the **same** fear, because I cannot bear to lose you either. But when you act only on your **own** fears, you dismiss mine. We share a dangerous profession, Torin, and I know the perils we face every day. But if we face them together, they are but half. I ask you now…stand **beside** me…walk **with** me…when I fight, I want to know you are at my side. But do not go in front…do not leave me behind. It is true we will both know fear now. That is what loving someone is, I think…wanting the best for them, wanting to keep them safe, fearing their loss. But is what we have not worth the price we must pay to have it? Be my partner in everything and we will protect each other. We will share our fears as we share our lives, and we will manage them…together," Alessia entreated, her eyes begging for his understanding.

And for the first time, he did understand. He realized she was right. The only way they could make it work between them was to treat her as a complete equal. She was an adventurer like him…a fierce, proud warrior…a match for any man or beast. He could not wrap her in a cocoon. He had to have faith in her. And he had to let her live her life as she wanted…to do that which she loved. Torin smiled his acceptance and nodded. "I…want to walk beside you," he said softly.

Alessia threw her arms around his neck. "Then let it be so, my love. From this day forward, we are truly as equals. We will face what comes together and we will prevail," she proclaimed.

He held her tightly. "I think…" he said lightly, "I might also…be afraid of wildcats..."

Alessia grinned and laughed softly, "We can be fearsome when riled…" she purred before seizing his lips.


	17. Chapter 17

17.

"Camoran's Paradise Lost"

They arrived at Cloud Ruler Temple later than expected, and without explanation. Jauffre was waiting for them, his arm in a sling. "Once you're equipped, you should have Martin open the portal to Camoran's Paradise immediately. Don't give the enemy a chance to recover from their defeat," he said, grasping Torin's shoulder encouragingly.

He nodded.

"I have everything in place for the ritual. I don't know what you'll find in Camoran's Paradise. I do know the portal I create through the Mysterium Xarxes ritual will close behind you, so you'll have to find another way back. It is my belief that Mankar Camoran acts as the "anchor" for his Paradise, just as a Sigil Stone anchors an Oblivion Gate in place. Kill Mankar Camoran, and you will unmake his Paradise. Shall I open the portal? Are you ready?" Martin said to Torin.

Torin looked at Alessia and smiled. "**We** are ready," he said, taking her hand.

She returned his smile.

Martin looked stunned. He had not expected her to go with Torin. "Alessia…are you sure? This is very dangerous. You may never return," he warned.

"Yes, I am sure. We talked about it. It is what I want to do," she said, squeezing her friend's shoulder. "Do not worry, Martin. Together, we cannot fail," she said confidently, beaming at Torin.

Martin glanced back and forth between them and they seemed in agreement. "Very well. Take care, my friends. Our fate is in your hands. Bring back the Amulet of Kings," he urged. He embraced Alessia and grasped Torin's arm, nodding. Then he performed the ritual and opened the portal to Paradise.

Torin looked at Alessia and took a deep breath…bolstering his courage, mastering his fear that she might perish if he allowed her to come with him.

She understood. She smiled at him as though to give him strength, and took his hand. "Together," was all she said.

Torin nodded. "Together," he replied.

And together, they stepped through the portal into Mankar Camoran's self-described Paradise.

* * *

"So, the cat's-paw of the Septims arrives at last. You didn't think you could take me unawares, **here** of all places? In the Paradise that **I** created?" an ethereal voice boomed around them the moment they set foot into Camoran's realm. It startled them both and they looked around defensively a few moments before realizing his physical presence was not there.

"Camoran!" Alessia whispered.

Torin nodded.

They advanced slowly.

"Look now upon my Paradise…Gaiar Alata, in the old tongue. A vision of the past...and the future. Behold the Savage Garden, where my disciples are tempered for a higher destiny: to rule over Tamriel Reborn. If you are truly the hero of destiny and not just of Tamriel, as I hope, the Garden will not hold you for long. Lift your eyes to Carac Agaialor, my seat at the pinnacle of Paradise. I shall await you there," he baited them.

They walked for a short time along endless winding paths. It was a deceptively pleasant landscape. And then they were reminded where they were. Two Daedra came charging at them. The creatures were easily dispatched, but it set them on their guard. Soon after, they came across a man weeping on his knees.

"So you found your way to Gaiar Alata at last. Don't we have enough troubles here, without you adding to them? Leave us alone. Your quarrel is with Mankar Camoran, not us poor fools," he wailed.

"Tell us about this…Gaiar Alata," Alessia commanded, hoping to gain a better understanding of their surroundings in order to escape them.

The man sighed, unwilling to be drawn in, yet knowing they would give him no choice. "Gaiar Alata is the Master's name for this place. This is the Savage Garden. At the top of that mountain lies the Terrace of Dawn, which leads up to Mankar Camoran's palace...Carac Agaialor. Beneath the mountain lies the Forbidden Grotto, the only way out of the Savage Garden. Everyone here died in the Master's service. As the Master promised, we are now ascended immortals. We were told it would be Paradise. But our life here is a nightmare! The creatures of the Garden torment us endlessly. Even death is no escape, for when they kill us, we are soon reborn and the cycle begins again," he lamented woefully. "No one has yet found a way to leave the Garden, except those few given the Bands of the Chosen and allowed to enter the Forbidden Grotto," he added in dejection.

Torin and Alessia looked at each other. A chance! These Bands were their way out!

"Only those wearing the Bands of the Chosen may enter the Forbidden Grotto. Others have tried but they are instantly incinerated if they do not wear the manacles. But even those that are permitted to leave never return, so we don't truly know what fate awaits them. I have told you all I know. Now leave me in peace…please…" he begged, turning away from them and returning to his weeping.

They continued on, encountering other Ascended Immortals. Some were mourning and some were belligerent. One woman shouted at them madly, "You are too late to stop Lord Dagon's victory! Soon we will return to Tamriel, to rule over it as lords, while you will remain here in the Eternal Garden...forever!"

They advanced, ignoring her threats and maniacal laughter. Eventually, they came across a single Dremora guarding a bridge that led to a rock wall. They glanced at each other, recognizing the significance of such a strange setup.

The Dremora approached them slowly, but without aggression. Torin found that strange for a Dremora, so he hesitated.

"I am Kathutet," the Dremora said.

Torin and Alessia were stunned. It was the most civilized he had ever seen a Daedra be.

"You destroyed the Sigil Tower at Ganonah. My kin say you fought well," Kathutet lauded him. "Our clan sacked your city of Kvatch... a trifling task fit for scamps, certainly, but your swift retribution earned you much respect among my people. We had not expected that a mortal would act with such resolution and honor. It is no dishonor for us to speak," Kathutet said matter-of-factly.

Torin nodded, maintaining his defenses, but recognizing the need for information. "We seek Mankar Camoran," he said guardedly.

Kathutet smiled the hideous grin of the Dremora. "You speak directly, like one of my people almost. I'm glad I did not kill you immediately. Perhaps there is a way we can assist each other," he said.

Torin's eyes narrowed.

"Do not help him, Torin. It cannot be in our best interests to…" Alessia started.

Kathutet glared at her. "Silence woman! The males are speaking!" he barked in the guttural tones of the Dremora.

Alessia was outraged. "I will **not**…you…" she began, taking a step towards the Daedra.

But Torin put his arm out and held her back.

She looked at him questioningly.

He shook his head, wordlessly asking her not to escalate matters.

She took a deep breath and bit her tongue, stepping back in acquiescence.

"Good!" the Dremora barked. "You have your female under control. It is as it should be. They should have no voice in the matters of men," he stated flatly, as though it was the natural order of things.

Alessia clenched her jaw…and her fists.

Torin could feel her seething, and silently blessed her for her restraint. This Kathutet was pressing all her buttons. The Dremora did not know how lucky he was that Torin did not unleash Alessia on him.

Kathutet continued, "There is one way out of the Garden. I guard that path. You will travel that path, and it will bring me honor to defeat you. But you shamed my kin at Ganonah. I could kill you. Or I could bring you into my service... that would also bring me honor. So I offer you a choice. Would you confront me in battle? Or offer me service?"

Torin's brow furrowed. "Service? What kind of service?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have a task in mind that will test your wit, and your loyalty. The rabble of the Savage Garden have imprisoned the Xivilai Anaxes. Mankar Camoran's chattels, the unmortals that swarm here in the Savage Garden…their proper role is to test themselves in unceasing combat. But, being no true immortals, they are without honor or courage, and shy from battle. However, by some trick, they trapped one of my agents, Anaxes, in a cave. I consider his humiliation a fitting punishment, and he doubtless **deserves** humiliation. However, his shame attaches to me, and I cannot permit this to continue. Though the matter is too small for **my** attention, it is not too small for one of my servants. Do me the service of freeing Anaxes, and I will reward you with Bands of the Chosen and passage to the Forbidden Grotto. Simply attach them to your wrists and you are free to pass," Kathutet offered.

"Free the Xivilai? Add more of you to this realm to taunt and torture the inhabitants? No. You will give us these Bands and step aside or we will end you now," Torin warned.

Alessia found herself genuinely hoping this Dremora resisted. She got her wish.

Kathutet snorted, "Your mind follows the simple path, the choice of an animal. But you have courage, at least. You will fail, mortals, and then where will you be? Dead. And nothing. Bah! Fools! I will simply bring greater honor on my clan by killing you both!" he boasted, bringing up his claymore.

Kathutet was no ordinary Dremora. He was Kynval, and no ordinary Kynval at that. He seemed to be anticipating their every move. Mankar had chosen his guard well. The fight was more difficult than either Torin or Alessia could have imagined. But at last, an unconventional tactic occurred to Alessia. There was a boulder some three feet in height next to the rock wall of the Grotto. She carefully maneuvered the battle so that the Kynval was opposite it. Then she fell away as Torin occupied the demon and leaping upon the boulder, ran three steps up the wall and sprung off it towards the Daedra, sinking her daggers into his unguarded neck.

Kathutet dropped to the ground, a look of surprise still on his mangled face.

Torin grabbed his armor and pulled the gargling, wide-eyed Daedra to him. "Before you die, Daedric scum, let me **tell** you about my female. I do **not** control her or seek to silence her. Her words are infinitely preferable to yours and she will always have a voice with me," Torin growled. Then he plunged his sword through the creature's heart and tossed him aside.

Alessia flushed with pleasure. He was clearly incensed at the treatment she had received from the arrogant Daedra. "My hero…" she cooed.

Torin grinned. "Come. Let us get these Bands he spoke of so that we may leave this place," he said as he searched Kathutet's body. He was devastated to discover there was only one set of the cuffs. Torin looked at her meaningfully. "You take them. I will find another way out of this," he said, not believing his own words.

"You heard them. There **is** no other way out of this. We need the Bands," Alessia said in distress. She gazed at him a moment, then gave him a soft, sad smile. Before he knew what had happened, she had snapped the Bands of the Chosen around his wrists with a click.

"No!" Torin exclaimed, trying to remove them. They were locked firmly in place. He rifled through the possessions of the Dremora. There was no key.

"Alessia! What have you done?" he wailed, grasping her shoulders.

"Torin. You are the one to do this. I can defend myself here. These Daedra are no challenge. Get to Mankar Camoran…destroy him and recover the Amulet. Then, perhaps, when his realm is no more, it will free me," she said hopefully. In spite of their promises to each other to stay together, Camoran had found a way to separate them. But if only one of them could go on, it must be him…not only because she loved him desperately and she wanted to see him safely clear of this place, but because he was a man of destiny. The Emperor had thought so…even Mankar Camoran suspected it. And deep in her heart, she knew it to be so. She truly believed he could end this nightmare of Dagon's. She could only hope **she** would survive the process.

Torin shook his head. "I will not leave you behind. I will never leave you to perish. Do not ask it of me," he said firmly.

"But you **must** stop Dagon. Only **you** can do it. Martin needs your help. Tamriel needs your help. The lives of thousands of innocents depend on you. You must try…" Alessia begged.

He kept shaking his head in denial, a look of untold anguish on his face as he struggled with the moral dilemma…the choice between the love of his life – his very soul – and the fate of the Empire.

Alessia felt for him. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. "I know. It is a terrible choice. But I ask you to do this…on your love for me. Be the hero they believe you are. Be the man I know you to be. I am not worth all of Tamriel," she said softly.

Torin clutched her tighter, murmuring in her ear, "You are worth far more than that."

"Oh Torin…" she whispered back, not knowing what else to say. His love for her was beyond measure. And it broke her heart to think that whatever decision he made would forever torment him. He must choose his love or his honor. Her life stacked against thousands of men, women, and children. She was grieved.

Torin's mind raced as he held her. There had to be another path, something else they could come up with that would…the Xivilai! Of course! The agent of Kathutet! Surely he would have freedom of movement between the planes of Mankar's Paradise just as Kathutet did. And that meant another set of Bands!

He pulled away from her suddenly, a joyous smile spread across his features.

Alessia realized he was on to something. "What is it?" she asked excitedly.

"I think I know where we can get another set of Bands," he said exuberantly, pulling her along behind him, "Come on!"

* * *

"Please, don't let Anaxes loose! He torments us night and day!" one of the Ascended Immortals beseeched.

"Where is he?" Torin commanded.

"He's trapped at the back of the cave. It took us weeks to prepare the trap, and he killed us many times before we finally succeeded. The lesser creatures of the Eternal Garden still torment us, but Anaxes was the worst! He toyed with us, prolonging our deaths for his pleasure. You must not release him, for pity's sake!" the man wailed.

"I have no intention of releasing him," Torin said grimly. He approached the imprisoned Xivilai and noted the Bands of the Chosen around his wrists. He exchanged glances with Alessia. They would have to kill him to get them, Torin thought, if they were able to get them off even then. He would find a way to remove them. He had already decided. Though his own soul be damned forever, he would not leave her.

They made short work of the vicious Anaxes. Upon his death, the Bands magically fell open, apparently powered by the life force of a being. Torin picked up the precious metal cuffs and stepped up to Alessia, reverently closing them about her slender wrists as he gazed at her emotionally, his eyes shining hard into hers. "You are coming with me, my love. I will not take no for an answer," he whispered.

She smiled and murmured, "Let us depart this place."

* * *

They stood before the wall of the Forbidden Grotto, searching for an opening…a trigger to a door. Suddenly, the Bands of the Chosen began to glow brightly and they heard the low rumbling of a door sliding open. Their way out was through the mountain.

Mankar Camoran's voice rang out, "You are powerful **and** resourceful. Excellent! A worthy adversary and possibly…more." He laughed. "Ah, how little you understand! The Principalities have sparkled as gems in the black reaches of Oblivion since the First Morning. Many are their names and the names of their masters: the Colored Rooms of Meridia, Peryrite's Quagmire, the ten Moonshadows of Mephala, and Dawn's Beauty, the Princedom of Lorkhan... misnamed 'Tamriel' by deluded mortals," he revealed.

Torin and Alessia looked at each other in stunned disbelief.

"Yes, you understand now. Tamriel is just one more Daedric realm of Oblivion, long since lost to its Prince when he was betrayed by those that served him. Lord Dagon cannot **invade** Tamriel. As a Daedric Prince, it is his **birthright**! He comes to liberate the Occupied Lands!" Mankar shouted.

Was it possible? Were they fighting for the right to hold on to a long-lost Daedric realm? "It is a trick, Alessia. He seeks to delay us, to confuse us. Come, let us keep moving," he said, not as certain of his words as he sounded. Even if it were somehow true, it mattered not. It was Tamriel now, and thousands of lives were at stake. His hated nemesis could not reclaim this land in the name of his brethren. Just as mortal territories changed hands throughout history, so, too, might the realms of the Daedra. It did not entitle the foul Dagon to slaughter its current inhabitants.

Alessia nodded.

They entered the Flooded Grotto, cautiously moving forward.

Still, Camoran taunted them as they progressed. "Ask yourself! How is it that mighty Gods die, yet the Daedra stand incorruptible? How is it that the Daedra forthrightly proclaim themselves to man, while the gods cower behind statues and the faithless words of traitor-priests? It is simple...they are not Gods at all! The truth has been in front of you since first you were born: the **Daedra** are the true Gods of this universe. Julianos and Dibella and Stendarr are all Lorkhan's betrayers, posing as divinities in a principality that has lost its guiding light. What are Scholarship, Love, and Mercy when compared to Fate, Night, and Destruction? The Gods you worship are trifling shadows of First Causes. They have tricked you for Ages. Why do you think your world has always been contested ground, the arena of powers and immortals? It is Tamriel, the realm of Change, brother to Madness, sister to Deceit. Your false Gods could not entirely rewrite history. Thus you remember tales of Lorkhan, vilified, a dead trickster, whose heart came to Tamriel. But if a God can die, how does his heart survive? He is Daedroth! TAMRIEL AE DAEDROTH! 'This Heart is the heart of the world, for one was made to satisfy the other.' You all remember this. It is in every legend. Daedra cannot die, so your so-called 'Gods' cannot erase him from your minds completely," Mankar raved on, spewing his propaganda.

"Listen not to his evil words, Less. He seeks to taint our hearts, to obscure our purpose. He is of Dagon. And Mehrunes Dagon is the soul of evil," Torin said to Alessia. Then he turned his attention to the bodiless voice that followed them. "We hear not your blasphemies, Daedra puppet! Dagon's pathetic excuses for his banishment do not interest us! We will not be corrupted! Love is the greatest Cause of all! **Your** Causes are pale pretenders, vicious perversions to be fought to the death. Cease your irritating prattle! We will not believe! We will not alter our course! The madness must end, and we will end it!" Torin shouted.

Gods, Alessia loved him!

They entered the Forbidden Grotto intent on making their way to the Terrace of the Dawn and Mankar Camoran. Immediately, they were accosted by an Altmer in Mythic Dawn garb. "You wear the Bands, but you are no prisoners. Who are you? What are you doing here?" he interrogated.

Torin was getting tired of delays, so he got right to the point. "I'm here to Kill Mankar Camoran," he said daring the elf to try and stop them.

Instead of attacking them, the High Elf became excited. "Can you really do it? Can you bring this eternal nightmare to an end? Can you defeat Mankar Camoran? And free all the souls of the poor fools who followed him? Listen to me. I can help you. You will need my help if you are ever to leave the Forbidden Grotto," he assured them.

"Who are you?" Alessia asked.

"I am Eldamil. I was one of Mankar Camoran's chief lieutenants. I helped plan the Emperor's assassination. I opened the Great Gate at Kvatch. We were the Chosen and saw more clearly than ordinary mortals. We would destroy the world and remake it. Mankar Camoran was our leader, our teacher, our Master. He had the secret knowledge. He dealt with Mehrunes Dagon as an equal," Eldamil explained. Though his words depicted his deeds, they did so not with pride, but detachment…and a sense of remorse.

"Why would you help us?" Torin asked suspiciously. This Altmer had committed some heinous acts by his own admission. He wasn't sure Eldamil should be trusted.

"I was at the sack of Kvatch. They had no chance. We took them by surprise, and we carried the walls in the first assault. But they fought on anyway. Desperately. They seemed to think this decadent, mundane world of theirs was worth defending. I was slain after the battle was over. Three townsfolk hiding in a cellar attacked me when I entered their house, hunting down survivors. They tore me to pieces, although I have no doubt they were immediately killed by my companions. Much time have I had to ponder my deeds since I came here. Ponder, and regret. An eternity of regret. For my weakness, the Master sent me here, to torture my former comrades who showed similar ingratitude for his gift of eternal life," Eldamil replied sadly.

"How can you help us?" Alessia inquired.

"No one wearing the Bands of the Chosen can leave this Grotto. The doors will not open, and there is no other way out," Eldamil began.

Alessia gasped.

"But I can remove them! I will just need time. The Dremora overseer will be here any minute to check up on me. You need to play along until he leaves. Just act like a prisoner, and do as I say. Once Orthe leaves, we can find a quiet spot to remove those Bands," he offered.

Alessia nodded to Torin.

"Feminine intuition?" he asked.

"Gut feeling," she replied, grinning.

He agreed.

True to his word, Eldamil helped them trick the overseer, meeting up with them further into the caves. The Altmer removed their Bands. "There. You're not a prisoner of the Forbidden Grotto any longer. But I beg you…let me come with you. Let me help you kill Mankar Camoran. I am not without power," he said hopefully, "Perhaps together we can find a way to defeat him."

"Well done, Champion!" Mankar Camoran's jeering bodiless voice congratulated them. "Your progress is swift and sure. Perhaps you will reach me after all," he said.

"Oh, we're coming, Mankar. Your empty threats and taunts will not keep us at bay," Torin answered smirking.

"You think I mock you? Not at all. In your coming, I hear the footsteps of Fate. You are the last defender of decadent Tamriel. I am the midwife of the Mythic Dawn, Tamriel Reborn. I **welcome** you, if you truly **are** the agent of Fate. I tire of the self-styled heroes who set themselves in my path, only to prove unworthy in the event," Camoran declared arrogantly.

They finally came to the doors of Camoran's precious Paradise, and were stunned to find both Ruma and Raven Camoran waiting for them. Torin and Alessia exchanged questioning glances. The adventurers had killed them both.

"You did not expect to see me again, did you? You have no grasp of the power that my father has at his command. You think you can stop us? Soon Mehrunes Dagon will walk upon Tamriel for the first time since the Mythic Age, and our victory will be complete. Come, my father is waiting to welcome you to Carac Agaialor, his palace," Ruma said, inviting them in.

Raven Camoran laughed at the look of surprise on their faces. "So here you are at last. The lackeys of the Septim pretender. You think that we are afraid of you? We **knew** you would find your way here eventually. You still think you have a chance, don't you? But it is of no consequence. You should not keep my father waiting any longer. He expected you hours ago. Come, you came here to see him, did you not?" he asked with mock courtesy, stepping aside so they could enter.

The immortal Camoran children took Torin and Alessia to their father, seated in a throne at the head of a great hall. "I have waited a long time for you, Champion of Old Tamriel," Mankar said, "You are the last gasp of a dying age. You breathe the stale air of false hope. How little you understand! You cannot stop Lord Dagon. The walls between our worlds are crumbling. The Mythic Dawn grows nearer with every rift in the firmament. Soon, very soon, the lines now blurred will be erased. Tamriel and Oblivion rejoined! The Mythic Age reborn! Lord Dagon shall walk Tamriel again. The world shall be remade. The new age shall rise from the ashes of the old and my vision shall be realized. Weakness will be purged from the world with mortal and immortal alike purified in the refiner's fire. My long duel with the Septims is over, and **I** have the mastery. The Emperor is dead. The Amulet of Kings is mine. And the last defenders of the last ragged Septim stand before me, in the heart of my power. What can you do to stop this great revolution? Ha ha ha! You can do nothing! You are a speck…an insect trying to topple a giant."

"You say I can do nothing. But I still live. There are many of your followers who do not. And I stand here in your false Paradise, prepared to take the Amulet from around your neck with little regard for your welfare in the taking. No, you are wrong. While I yet live something can be done. Your Lord is a demon, a foul corruption. And I will find a way to stop him," Torin replied with steely resolve.

"Blasphemer!" Mankar sputtered, "You insult my Prince with your very existence! You take his weapon, then seek to destroy him! But I will show him who his **true** champion is. I will end your mockery and curry his favor for eternity. You have defeated the foot soldiers of my Mythic Dawn. But they were weak…and now you must face their master." He smiled sinisterly, the gleam of madness in his eye. "Let us see who at last is proved the stronger!" he challenged, signaling his son and daughter. He laughed as Ruma and Raven advanced on the three.

Over and over Alessia, Torin, and Eldamil thought they had slain the son and daughter only to have the father revive them. They were succumbing to fatigue in spite of their potions. Eldamil was struck down and Torin realized they had to change strategies or exhaustion and badly damaged armor would ultimately see them undone.

"Less!" he shouted, "Range!" He jerked his head to indicate the balcony and she nodded, flipping away from Raven's lightning bolt, and running up the stairs, drawing her bow. Torin leaped in front of Raven to prevent him from chasing Alessia, and swung mightily, killing him again. Then he turned his attention to Ruma once more. "Get Mankar!" he shouted to Alessia, "He is the key! If he cannot revive them…"

Alessia shouted, "I'm on it!" He was a brilliant strategist amongst all his other strengths, she thought proudly. Cut off the head of the snake…especially when that serpent was re-spawning its young. She quickly fired off two arrows intended to silence Mankar. Then she poured shafts into him…some to distract, some to injure…anything to keep him off-balance while Torin dealt with his pestersome children. But Camoran healed himself as quickly as she hurt him.

After a time, she shouted, "Hurry, Torin, I'm running out of arrows!"

Torin was running out of energy. Ruma was down. But he was slowed by fatigue and they were both so fast, so resilient, that many of his blows and targeted spells missed. Still, he nearly had Raven, he knew.

Alessia fired her last arrow, to silence Mankar. Then she threw down her bow and charged him, unleashing all her throwing knives, and pulling her daggers. She had to be on him before he recovered his magical voice or they were done. If he could revive Ruma and Raven again… She didn't think Torin had the stamina to start over, and she had no arrows. She had to occupy Mankar a few more minutes, till Torin could finish Raven and join her. Everything depended on it. She would not fail him.

Raven fell at last and Torin turned, his eyes frantically searching for Alessia. She was engaged in combat with Mankar, but she seemed to be faltering. Weariness was becoming a factor for her, too. He downed a potion to boost his own stamina and leaped to Alessia's side, bringing his sword down on an unsuspecting Mankar. The blow was deflected by the cult leader's magical shield, but it was powerful enough to knock him down. It was a chance for Alessia to recover.

"Took you long enough," she teased, trying to catch her breath.

He grinned and launched himself into a groggy Camoran trying to rise.

Mankar had been silenced by Torin's enchanted sword and he had to resort to his staff. Flaming tendrils leapt from the tip of the powerful weapon as Camoran pointed it towards the adventurer. The insignificant flicker suddenly roared to life as he unleashed a searing jet of fiery death at the hero, just missing Torin as he ducked and rolled.

Alessia re-entered the fray. She ran straight at the mage and slid feet first on the slick marble floor just as he hurled a ball of fire over her head. She crashed into Mankar's legs, and when he tumbled to the floor, she flipped acrobatically onto his chest and embedded both her daggers in his heart.

Torin stood slack-jawed. He had never seen such a thing.

She stood, and seeing his awestruck expression, placed her index finger under his chin, slowly lifting until his mouth closed. "Are you trying to catch flies, my Grayrider?" she asked, laughing.

"Dagon knows you! He knows you! He will deal with you!" Camoran gurgled behind them with his last breath. Then there was a rumbling and the earth began to shake. The walls started to crumble. Paradise was lost.

Torin quickly leaned over Mankar's lifeless body and wrenched the Amulet of Kings from his neck. "Alessia!" he shouted, reaching for her. She took his hand and he pulled her to him just as the Paradise Camoran had created began to dissolve around them.

A moment later they were back in Cloud Ruler Temple.

Martin ran up to them. "You found a way back! Does this mean...?" he asked excitedly.

"Mankar Camoran is dead," Torin said.

"Praise the Gods, you did it! You defeated him!" Martin exclaimed.

Torin laughed. "It wasn't **me**. It was your little spitfire here," he said, giving credit where it was due.

Martin turned to her in amazement.

Alessia blushed, not desiring the attention. "We did it **together**," she said.

"Do you have it... the Amulet of Kings?" The Emperor-To-Be asked hopefully.

"Here," Torin said, thrusting the precious necklace of Emperors towards him, "I took it from Camoran's neck. It rightfully belongs to you."

"Belongs to me? The Amulet of Kings…so you and Jauffre have said. If it is true, if the Emperor really was my father, then I should be able to wear it. Only mortals of the Septim blood can wear the Amulet of Kings. Mankar Camoran could only wear it because he was an Immortal in a magical realm. But I…" Martin said, hesitating. If he put it on, it would mean he was truly Emperor. Suddenly, he felt unworthy.

Alessia smiled understandingly. She took the Amulet from Torin's outstretched hand and placed it around Martin's neck, saying, "It is your destiny, your Imperial Highness. No man can deny his destiny," she said softly, glancing at Torin for a moment, a look of complete love and admiration on her features. Then she focused her attention on Martin again. "You see, you **are** Uriel's son," she said proudly.

Martin glanced down at the great Amulet, feeling the heft of it, and the great weight of responsibility that came with wearing it. "Camoran's death will not halt the Oblivion crisis. The threat from Mehrunes Dagon will still exist as long as the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One remain dark. Until the Dragonfires burn once again, the Gates are open, and Dagon's invasion continues. While you were gone, I sent a messenger to Chancellor Ocato of the Elder Council that has been ruling in…my father's absence. I explained everything. I don't expect any objections from the Elder Council, but we should defer to their authority," he said.

"Martin is right," Jauffre said. "Declaring oneself Emperor is a delicate matter. In this case, however, I do not think there should be any dispute. Though the Elder Council has been governing the Empire since the Emperor's murder, they've been unable to solve the Oblivion Crisis and the Empire is falling apart. They will be overjoyed to have an heir to crown. Only a legitimate Emperor offers any hope," he reasoned.

"Let us go to the Imperial City at once, before the enemy can recover from Camoran's death," Martin commanded.


	18. Chapter 18

18.

"Dagon! The Hero and the Dragonborn"

They arrived in Imperial City to a warm welcome from High Chancellor Ocato. "I have been expecting you. The full Council has already considered the matter of Martin's claim to the Imperial Throne in detail," he said. Then Ocato knelt before Martin, his head bowed in homage. "Martin Septim, on behalf of the Elder Council, I accept your claim to the Imperial Throne. We should arrange the coronation ceremony as soon as..." Ocato was interrupted by an Imperial Legion Messenger who ran in breathlessly.

"Chancellor Ocato! We are under attack! Oblivion Gates have opened all over the city, and Daedra are inside the walls!" he managed, trying to contain his fear.

Ocato tried to calm him, "Courage, soldier. We have an Emperor again." He turned to Martin. "Your Highness, what are your orders? Shall the Guard fall back to the Palace?" he asked.

Martin steeled himself. "No. If we let ourselves get besieged in the Palace we're doomed. We must get to the Temple of the One immediately," he commanded.

Ocato nodded. "As you wish, Sire. Guards! Form up and protect the Emperor! To the Temple of the One!" he shouted.

Suddenly, a horde of Daedra burst through the door of the Elder Council Chambers. After a pitched battle, five Imperial Legion soldiers ran through the door. The Captain exclaimed, "The Palace is cut off, Sire. We were the last to make it through from the Legion Compound."

"Quickly! To the Temple of the One. It's our only chance to stop Mehrunes Dagon!" Martin shouted urgently.

They fought their way through to the Temple District. It was then they saw him, towering above the lesser Daedra that fought in his name…Dagon! He was easily ten feet tall, with horns, pointed ears, and dripping fangs. His red humanoid body boasted four arms, each wielding a barbaric weapon, and strange rune markings were carved into his skin from head to toe.

So this was his nemesis! Torin thought, his eyes narrowing. A monstrous appearance to match his monstrous reputation. He grabbed Martin's arm and pulled him into the Temple of the One. "Over here, Less!" he shouted.

She extricated herself from the battle and ran to his side.

Dagon smiled cruelly. He pointed to the guards and Blades in the streets. His Daedra stopped following him and assaulted the remaining soldiers. The Prince wanted to face the three in the Temple alone. It would give him the greatest satisfaction to end this himself. And he would have words with the Grayrider.

"We're too late...Mehrunes Dagon is here! Lighting the Dragonfires will no longer save us... the barriers that protected us from Oblivion are gone..." Martin wailed in despair as he was dragged to the great ceremonial cauldron now extinguished.

"We have to do **something**!" Alessia shouted.

At that moment, the hulking Daedric Prince smashed through the door, and turned to collapse it behind him. There would be no interference from the other pesky mortals.

"Dagon!" Martin breathed in awe.

Torin and Alessia instinctively fell into defensive stances before their Emperor.

The Daedric Lord stopped twenty yards from the trio. "Grayrider! Stand before me, mortal!" Mehrunes Dagon demanded. He sought an audience with the adventurer before the events that would follow.

"Can we cast him back into Oblivion?" Alessia whispered.

"I don't see how...mortal weapons may hurt him, but now that he is physically here in Tamriel, they have no power to actually destroy him," Martin said plaintively.

"Torin…" Alessia said softly. "Use it…use his own evil against him. Use it for the good," she said, indicating his pack.

It dawned on him she meant the Razor, Mehrunes' own dagger. It was enchanted with a chance to banish a foe to Oblivion. Could it work? Was it possible? He could not but try. Torin nodded, pulling it out. He hesitated when he held it in his hands, staring at it, fighting back the memories. He wrapped his palm around the hilt and found his hand was shaking.

Alessia stepped up to him and covered his hand with both of hers. They locked eyes. "You can do this," she whispered. "I believe in you," she added lovingly.

Torin swallowed hard and nodded, bolstered by her confidence in him. "I love you, Less," he said.

"And I, you, my Grayrider," she replied, her eyes glistening.

He kissed her and pulled away, marching to meet his destiny with the Prince of the Deadlands. Torin stopped before the hideous Daedric Lord, Razor in hand.

"So, Grayrider, we meet at last, face to face," Mehrunes thundered. "I am disappointed. You held so much potential so many years ago when you claimed my Razor and defeated its unworthy protector. I thought you would be my greatest mortal Champion ever," Dagon said, shaking his head.

Martin gasped. "You?! You are a worshipper of the dreaded Dagon?! Traitor!" he shouted angrily.

Torin winced over his shoulder in response to his Emperor's hurled accusation.

"The treachery! I'll kill you myself!" Martin shouted, raising his sword and advancing on Torin.

Alessia stopped him. "NO! Martin, you understand nothing!" she shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling him back.

Her Emperor looked at her stunned. But it was her friend that was unable to hide the hurt in his eyes. "You **knew** of this? It is…**acceptable** to you?" Martin asked, his voice wavering.

"Yes…" Alessia admitted, "He told me of it weeks ago. But it is not what you think…he is not in league with Dagon, Martin, I swear it! He made a mistake when he was young and has paid for it ever since. You must believe me! I forgave him his folly. He is a good man, Martin! Trust your instincts, as I have mine," she pleaded.

Martin thought back to Torin's reaction when he admitted his own foolishness as a young mage dabbling in the black arts…a terrible misstep that had cost men their lives. Torin had not judged him then, but rather a cloud of sadness had settled over him which Martin had not understood. Perhaps now, it made sense.

"Do not condemn him until you know the whole truth…please," Alessia entreated.

Martin nodded.

"Your Emperor wants to kill you, Champion, even while you are trying to sacrifice your life to save his. And your woman must defend your honor," Dagon said laughing. It was a harsh, coughing sound that grated on Torin's senses. "You mortals are an amusing lot, full of hate and treachery," he said.

"It is you that boasts such talents," Torin said. "My Emperor is merely…acting rashly," he added.

It was then Dagon noticed his own dagger in Torin's hand. "And now you stand before me with my own Razor in hopes of striking me down with it…of sending me back to Oblivion. Fool! I **created** the weapon! It has no effect on **me**! Do you think I would be so blind as to allow my own weapon to be used **against** me?! Your pathetic attempt to stop me embarrasses you. Have you learned nothing since you took the Razor so long ago?" Dagon taunted him.

Torin glared at the Daedric Prince of Destruction. "I was very young then. Ambitious and foolish. I thought the way to fame and fortune was a superior weapon, and yours was merely there for the taking. I have used it only in the taking of it, before I fully grasped what evil it held…before I found myself wishing I had never laid eyes on it," Torin struggled to say.

Mehrunes Dagon laughed. "But you still carry it with you, I see. Perhaps you are not as anxious to get rid of the weapon as you pretend. Perhaps you are not as **pious** as you pretend," Dagon mocked.

Torin steeled his jaw. "I keep it in atonement for what I have done. I hold it to keep it out of the hands of others who would use it for treachery," he said through gritted teeth.

Martin was overcome with regret. He had nearly killed his friend and savior mistakenly.

Torin continued, "It is the price I have paid for my lack of judgment, for my wrongdoing in obtaining it. But I have found forgiveness in the arms of she who matters most."

Alessia heart swelled at his words.

"Yet I offer you a choice. Your skills are impressive, beyond that of any of my followers. You have dispatched all that I have sent against you. I would welcome a mortal of your talents in my service, in my new world order. One last chance I give you to rejoin my fold as my Champion. I will even permit you to bring your woman. She is fierce and will make an excellent addition to my army," he said. Dagon believed that to turn such a man would be a great feat, indeed.

Torin looked back at Alessia one last time as though to say goodbye and then turned back to his enemy shaking his head. "No. I will never follow you. I will not be your disciple. My life is not worth my soul. Your promises mean nothing to me. I will never do your bidding and neither will she. You will not claim me as your Champion again," he said with steely resolve.

"So be it," Dagon roared. "Then you will die at my hands, reckless mortal! Be trampled underfoot as the pathetic nothing you are!" his voice rumbled. Suddenly, he began to grow, increasing in size, smashing through the Temple dome until he was a giant, taller than the Temple of the One itself. "You dare to defy **me**?! I am your **Master**…the Master of all I survey!" He lifted one monstrous red foot and brought it down hard, trying to stomp Torin, who barely escaped by diving and rolling back toward Martin and Alessia.

They ran to him and pulled him to the opposite side of the Temple as the massive Dagon lumbered towards them.

"I have an idea. One last hope," Martin shouted over Dagon's roaring. "The Amulet of Kings was given to mortals by Akatosh and contains His divine power. It was not intended as a weapon…but…I have to get past Mehrunes Dagon, somehow. I must reach the Dragonfires cauldron!"

Torin's eyes searched for the cauldron. It was on the other side of the Temple and Dagon was blocking the way. "Martin! I'll draw him off and you and Alessia make your way around the edge to the Dragonfires. He wants me the worst. I can keep him distracted while you enact your plan," Torin ordered.

"No! Torin…no," Alessia refused. "I'm coming with you. Together, we can buy Martin all the time he needs," she insisted.

His eyes locked with hers…his stubborn, wonderful Alessia. He nodded. "Together," he said.

They heard shouting and clanging as men were trying to break through the rubble blocking the entrance. Dagon whipped toward the sound and moved to reinforce his blockade, smashing his giant fist down on an archway, collapsing it.

His men were trying to reach him, Martin thought. He would not let them down. He could save Tamriel, as he now knew he was born to do. "I will not live through this my friends," Martin said, sensing the moment of his own death, just as his father had.

Alessia gasped.

Torin scowled. "But you must…you are Emperor," he argued.

"I do what I must do as Emperor to save my Empire. I cannot stay to rebuild Tamriel. That task falls to others. Farewell. You've been a good friend, Torin," Martin said, grasping his arm, "Take care of her." Then he turned to a distressed Alessia and embraced her. "Goodbye, my little spitfire. Be happy with him," he whispered. "I must go. The Dragon waits," he said to both of them. Then he ran to the edge of the Temple just as Mehrunes Dagon was turning his attention back to them.

Torin and Alessia had no time to be stunned. Dagon once again approached, stomping and flailing his weapons at them. They headed the opposite direction from Martin, careful to keep as far from the cauldron as possible. They jumped and ducked and rolled. It took every ounce of energy and agility they had to dodge the assaults of the Daedric Prince. Dagon was becoming infuriated that he could not strike them. "Insects! Cowards!" he shouted, swinging his great arms. His size, while daunting, made his efforts slow and clumsy. Yet if he were to land a blow, it would likely finish them.

Martin had reached the altar of the Dragonfires. He began to murmur an incantation.

Dagon had become so frustrated with his lack of success against the two insolents that he abruptly changed strategies. Instead of striking at them, he dropped weapons in two of his four hands and fell to one knee. He reached down and snatched Alessia. She screamed in pain. A gloating Dagon pulled her up close to his face to relish her defeat…her suffering.

"NOOOOO!" Torin shouted, leaping onto the giant hand nearest him and running up Dagon's huge arm before the astonished Daedric Prince knew what was happening. As Mehrunes reached to flick him off, Torin leaped toward his face and plunged the Razor into his eye, ripping its soft membranous tissue as he fell. Dagon screamed and dropped Alessia, clutching his bleeding eye with two of his hands.

Alessia flipped in mid-air to try to avoid landing awkwardly, but it knocked the air from her lungs when she hit the hard stone floor. Torin's body was more in control when he landed, rolling harmlessly to stop uninjured. His eyes scanned for her. When he saw her prostrate form laying there, his heart stopped. No, please…anything but that. He ran to her and took her in his arms. "Alessia! Less, please!" he shouted at her.

She was having difficulty catching her breath. She tried to say his name, but nothing came out.

"Alessia…" he wailed.

At that moment, an ominous shadow cast itself across them, blocking out the sun. Dagon stood snarling over them, bleeding, one hand to his eye. "You will pay for this outrage Champion! Your suffering will be endless…eternal! And the woman will endure torments you have not dreamed of while you watch helplessly," he promised.

"Go…" Alessia managed. "Please…"

Torin smiled at her then, knowing it was over, "I told you I could never leave you behind."

Her hand touched his face.

Dagon grinned hideously and reached down for his Champion.

Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding light and the sound of roaring fire filled the air. Dagon whipped around. The Dragonfires had been lit. "Fool! It is far too late for that! The Gates of Oblivion are already open! I have come!" he shouted at Martin condescendingly.

Martin clutched the Amulet of Kings around his neck and his body arched suddenly, violently, rising into the air. Bright streams of light burst forth from the Amulet as he hovered there. Then the Dragonfires exploded from the altar, a streaming pillar of fire rising high into the sky.

Torin turned away from the glare, shielding Alessia with his body. When he turned back, Martin was gone. He had shattered the Amulet of Kings and been transformed into an avatar of Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time…a great fiery serpent, as large as Dagon himself. Martin had surrendered his form to the King of the Gods himself! Torin thought in awe.

The Dragon launched itself at the wounded Dagon. Torin and Alessia could only watch as the two behemoths clashed in mortal struggle. Dagon flailed wildly with his four arms at the agile God, but it always seemed to avoid the clumsy strikes, its wings bearing it swiftly and nimbly out of harm's way. The incarnation of Akatosh rained fire down on the Daedric Prince as it gracefully darted around its lumbering foe.

Dagon screamed…a dreadful, wailing, piercing shriek. But his terrible rage grew a thousandfold as his physical form burned, and he set aside the pain to redouble his efforts against the hated nemesis, the King of the Gods he so despised. He could end this now…he could at last bring down the Gods if he could but destroy their powerful leader.

Torin and Alessia watched, feeling very insignificant indeed…and very helpless. Yet they knew their fate…the fate of all Tamriel…hung in the balance. The outcome of this gargantuan battle would spell their salvation…or their doom.

But what could they do now? Torin thought hoplessly. He knew not the plan of the Dragon God. He knew not the strategy. He was a comrade in arms blind to his ally's purpose. Still, he could not stand idly by when everything he knew could be destroyed in a matter of moments. They were too small to be of any real assistance in this titanic struggle between immortals, yet…perhaps they could help in another way. If he could not aid Akatosh in the battle itself, perhaps he could provide distraction, to help see the man-God's design to fruition.

Torin turned back to Alessia. She had recovered the air in her lungs, mercifully. He grabbed the Razor he had dropped and stood. Then, as it occurred to him what weapon he held, he winced and cast it away from him, drawing his faithful sword instead. He took one last glance at his love…not for permission, but for understanding.

This time Alessia knew she could not join him, but she would have him know her spirit did. She smiled at him sadly and nodded.

He leaned down and kissed her passionately. Then he grinned fatefully at her, and turning toward the Lord of the Deadlands, he charged, shouting, "Dagonnnnnnn!"

Alessia watched him race towards his doom, pride and pain filling her heart. She had to help him somehow, but she felt so battered, she was not sure her ribs were not broken. She forced herself up. She could breathe at least, so no punctured lung. But there was no aiding Torin in open combat now. Her vaunted agility was gone. Yet still, she had her bow. And if she could not fight at his side, she could at least harry from a distance. She made her way slowly closer, into position to face Dagon.

Torin struck mightily at the Achilles tendon of the giant hoping to somehow hinder his movement and aid the efforts of Akatosh. His labors did not long go unrewarded as Dagon howled and stomped at him. The Dragon God bit and clawed at the demon Prince as he tried to crush the "insect" at his feet.

Alessia had reached a strategic position that held promise, not in the line of fire, yet close enough for her bow to damage. She faced the Daedric Lord as her lover and the Dragon God that had been her friend Martin attacked the invader from differing vantage points. She studied her foe for weaknesses for a moment, and then a slow smile crossed her features. She would finish what Torin had started. Maybe they could not kill this immortal Daedra with their mortal weapons. Yet, they could injure…perhaps enough for Akatosh to gain advantage and end him. Alessia drew back her bow and, with the precision of a champion archer, unleashed a rapid succession of arrows into the remaining eye of the demon. Three of the four arrows she got off found their mark before Dagon screamed in agony, one hand flying to his newly injured eye as he doubled over. His other eye was effectively useless and he staggered about in near-blindness, shouting and cursing and striking out recklessly.

Torin saw his chance then, and climbed a broken pillar near the stumbling Daedra. When the thrashing monster came near, Torin leaped towards him, sword raised high in the air, poised to strike.

Alessia could but watch in awe as the man she loved flew through the air like some avenging god of war, his sword drawn to destroy his enemy. But just as he landed on Dagon's shoulder and struck his blow, the Daedric Prince turned and she lost sight of Torin. Dagon's arms clawed frantically behind him, trying to dislodge the hero. But Akatosh still remained, and just as Torin and Alessia had prayed for, the avatar of the King of Gods seized the moment. The great Dragon wrapped its wings in a death grip around the hulking Daedric Lord and its fangs sunk deep into the neck of the demon, tearing immortal flesh.

Mehrunes Dagon struggled beneath the leathery wings, held tight in their viselike grip, until, unable to maneuver, unable to fight back, unable to defend himself against the rending of the jaws of Akatosh, he struggled no more, and disintegrated into nothingness, banished to the Oblivion realm once more. The dread Gates of Oblivion all closed behind him.

The Dragon God's purpose fulfilled, it began to change. Its great flapping wings slowed in their cadence, its fiery body hardening, until, in midflight, it turned completely to stone, frozen in the center of the great Temple of the One upon the altar which spawned it…forever a reminder of the great war it had waged with the Lord of the Deadlands.

But…Torin…Alessia thought frantically. Dagon was gone…banished back to his terrible realm. Was Torin…had he…? He eyes scanned the Temple desperately for a sign of him. Panic seized her heart. Then she saw movement in the corner of her eye…behind a pillar. "Torin!" she shouted as she saw him struggle to his feet.

He ran to her side and embraced her, grateful that it was over and amazed they were still alive.

"Are you alright?" he asked tenderly.

She nodded. "I…think so," she said weakly. "But how did you…? I thought you were on Dagon as Akatosh seized him," she asked.

"His wing knocked me off," Torin replied, "Perhaps Martin was looking out for me, even then."

He put his arm around her waist to steady her. They searched the Temple but found no sign of Martin.

"He's truly gone…" she said, burying her head in Torin's chest and letting the tears flow for her friend.

He held her. "I'm sorry. He saved us all. He saved Tamriel. Martin died an Emperor, and a hero to rival Tiber Septim," Torin said lamely, knowing there was little he could say to comfort her now.

Men were breaking through the rubble now. She leaned against him and hobbled towards their comrades. As they made their way toward the entrance, the glint of steel flashing in the sun caught his eye on the floor of the Temple ahead. They walked to it and stopped. Torin sighed heavily, and reached down to retrieve the Razor, burying it in his pack once more to keep it safe from the world. Alessia leaned her head on his shoulder meaningfully. He put his arm around her and they advanced slowly toward the approaching crowd of cheering soldiers.

* * *

"What about the Empire?" Torin asked. He stood alone in the Imperial Palace before High Chancellor Ocato. The leader of the Elder Council had luckily survived the Daedric onslaught. It had been nearly a week since Dagon had been defeated. He was here alone now because Alessia's feelings were still raw about Martin and he did not want to discuss this in front of her. But this was a matter that had to be broached.

"This victory is not without cost. We've lost Martin Septim. What a ruler he might have made! His sacrifice was necessary, but it leaves the Empire without an Emperor. I don't know. But now is not the time to worry about the future. Let's just give thanks that we're alive," Ocato said.

That was not good enough for Torin. They could not afford to let chaos set in. They had to have a plan to rebuild. He was no politician, but he felt they must act quickly to begin anew. "What will the Elder Council do?" he pressed.

"We are now the stewards of the Empire. We can hold Cyrodiil together in the short term. But to be honest, I don't know what will happen. With no legitimate claimant for the Dragon Throne...I fear troubled times lie ahead," Ocato said worriedly.

At that moment, Alessia walked in. They had been guests in the palace since the battle, she recovering from her injuries, and Torin helping her in any way he could. It had not been easy for her. She grieved for Martin. And worse, she felt she had somehow failed him. "Look who I found wandering the halls of the palace," she said, smiling weakly. Jauffre was on her heels.

"Jauffre!" Torin exclaimed, pleased to see the Blades Grandmaster. He had not seen the old Brother since that fateful day. "What are you doing here?" he asked. Torin thought the Blade had returned to Weynon Priory.

"I have brought your Brothers in Imperial City to you," Jauffre said. Fourteen Blades marched in behind him.

Torin looked at him questioningly.

"A victory beyond hope! You and Martin defeated Mehrunes Dagon in the very moment of his triumph! All hail the Champion!" Jauffre shouted.

The Blades cheered and raised their fists in salute.

"Champion?" Torin asked, confused. He glanced at Alessia. She smiled and came over to take his hand.

"In my capacity as Lord High Chancellor of the Elder Council, I hereby proclaim you Champion of Cyrodiil! You have earned the highest rank possible in the Order of the Dragon, the illustrious order of Imperial knights founded by Tiber Septim himself. It is a distinction only six other Champions have been awarded in the history of the Empire," Chancellor Ocato declared.

Alessia was proud of him…and saddened that Martin was not here to share the moment.

Torin felt her grief in this honor that had been bestowed on him. It was bittersweet for him as well. He put his arm around her and nodded his thanks to his brothers-in-arms as they crowded around him.

Alessia stepped away distractedly to let him enjoy his moment.

Torin's eyes followed her as he accepted the congratulations of his comrades. He worried for Alessia. Physically, she was much better. Miraculously, she had sustained no serious injury from her encounter with Dagon. But emotionally, she was struggling. Martin was as a brother to her…the only family she had ever known besides the Sisters. They had been as close as any real brother and sister he had ever seen. And she was having a hard time dealing with his loss. Alessia was fragile now…vulnerable. Torin had felt the reluctant distance between them as she wrestled with Martin's death. But he did not know how to combat it. And so, he waited patiently, supportively, and did his best to help her through.

* * *

There was another who waited patiently. But his intentions were not to aid and succor. He conspired and calculated. He schemed and contrived. For he had only just learned the truth. It was a fortuitous turn of events that played into his hands perfectly. Already, a plan was forming in his mind. For he was the Prince of Plots…Deceiver of Nations. He was Boethiah. And his revenge on the Champion of Cyrodiil…his "Chosen One"…would be complete.


	19. Chapter 19

19.

"True Blood, Lost Souls"

Torin had been wonderful to her – gentle and kind. Slowly, she was coming to terms with Martin's death and his patience with her had not gone unnoticed. For a time, she had felt detached from everything. But now, Alessia wanted to reconnect with the world. She was still saddened by the loss of her great childhood friend, but she felt able to move forward now…with Torin at her side. She began to entertain thoughts of marriage. She had promised him after the threat of Mehrunes Dagon was ended, she would wed him. It was a promise she intended to keep. Now, Alessia sat idly on a bench in the Imperial Gardens dreaming of her future with the Champion of Cyrodiil. She closed her eyes soaking up the warm rays of the spring sun, when the warmth suddenly disappeared and a shadow fell over her face. She opened her eyes to find Jauffre standing over her looking anguished. She scowled. "What is it, Jauffre? You seem troubled…"

"I…need you to come with me…it is a matter of grave importance. Please…" Jauffre said cryptically.

"What is it?" she pressed, beginning to feel nervous. His demeanor was agitated. And she had never known anything to really rattle the Grandmaster of the Blades.

"I…it is better left for more fluent tongues than mine, my…" he stopped himself. "Please…I beg you. It is of an urgent nature…" Jauffre pleaded.

"Where is Torin? Have you sent for him as well?" she asked.

"I…no…what we have to say is for your ears only," he replied, leading her back into the palace to High Chancellor Ocato.

She followed, as apprehensive as she could ever remember being.

* * *

Two hours later, she sat in Ocato's office, still in a state of shock, still holding the letter they had given her. It was not possible, she had told them. Madness. A trick. They had assured her it was not. Jauffre's men had confirmed the details. The old midwife of Cheydinhal had brought them the letter and her story after she had heard of Martin's demise. She knew then she could no longer keep her promise to Lenore Trueblood…that for the sake of the Empire she had to come forward.

Alessia stared at the letter again, still trying to fathom it. She and Martin were twins!? The document had been in the safekeeping of the midwife who delivered the children. Lenore had sworn her to secrecy. Their mother rightly feared for the lives of her son and daughter after being spurned by their father, the Emperor. They were of royal blood, yet could make no claim to the throne and warranted no protection. This terrible position made them simply a threat…a target. But if no one knew who they were, they would have a chance at a long and happy life…even if they grew up as orphans. It had broken Lenore's heart to have to give them up. But she had no choice. She was dying, and there was no one else to care for them. The boy had been stronger…robust and healthy at birth. She had taken him to the orphanage herself, keeping him as long as she was able. But the second child, the girl, had been smaller…weaker…and Lenore feared that she would not live if she was given up right away. She kept the girl for a few more weeks, suckling her, doting on her, until Lenore herself was too weak to continue. She sent for the midwife then, giving her the girl child to take to the orphanage anonymously. But Lenore could not bear that they should never know the truth of their birth or their mother's love. So she wrote a letter explaining everything, and gave it to the midwife, with explicit instructions to give it to the children on their 30th birthdays, when she felt they would be old enough to decide for themselves what they wanted to do with the information. The midwife had bonded with Lenore and, true to her word, held the sealed letter after Lenore passed for nearly 27 years, keeping a watchful eye on their paths as they grew. But when news reached her that Martin had died, sacrificing himself for the good of the Empire… and that Alessia was involved…she could keep her silence no longer. Yet knowing the poor girl had been through so much, the midwife didn't have the courage to tell her. It was better left to friends, she thought, and those in power who would know what to do. So she took the letter to Jauffre and Ocato and revealed her tale. They had, of course, been stunned at the disclosure. But Alessia was devastated. Martin had been…her brother? Her twin. It explained so much. They had shared a special connection their entire lives. But if she had known…Alessia was filled with grief and regret. And now they were telling her she was **Empress**?! It was too much to take in. She was reeling.

Then, as if to compound her misery, Ocato stepped forward. "Your…Highness. I am afraid there is more. I…understand from Jauffre that…you and the Champion…that you and Grayrider are…quite close. I don't know how to put this…" Ocato began awkwardly.

If she had been devastated before, the next five minutes would crush her completely. She nodded weakly when they were done explaining her obligations to the throne…to the people of Tamriel. Just as Martin had made his great sacrifice, so must she. Yet she felt what they wanted from her was worse than giving up her life. They wanted her soul.

* * *

A curious Torin found himself knocking on Ocato's door. He had been summoned by the High Chancellor with all urgency. The door swung open. Jauffre stood before him with a sad expression on his face. Then the Blades Grandmaster stepped aside to reveal an emotionally distraught Alessia, sitting with her face buried in her hands, tears streaming down her face.

Torin scowled.

Alessia looked up when she heard the door open and seeing Torin, flung herself into his arms sobbing.

He wrapped his arms around her to comfort her. "What is it? What has happened?!" he asked in distress.

Jauffre averted his eyes to avoid the questioning gaze of his friend and Champion.

At this, Torin's confusion gave way to protective anger. Torin looked accusingly at Jauffre. "What did you say to her?! What have you done to upset her so?!" he growled, glaring at Ocato and Jauffre.

Jauffre lowered his head guiltily. "I'm afraid we only told her the truth. But…it is a terrible blow for many reasons. I…should I explain, Your Highness?" he asked deferentially.

Torin reacted to the Blade's use of the title. His head jerked around in search of Martin…was it possible the Emperor was not dead?

And then, Torin Grayrider - adventurer, Hero of Kvatch, Champion of Cyrodiil - received the greatest shock of his life.

"No…" Alessia answered the question put to her. "It is for me to tell him," she said, collecting herself. She pulled away from Torin and turned to Jauffre and the Chancellor. "Leave us," she ordered bitterly. Then she sighed, reminding herself it was not their faults. "Please…" she added weakly, feeling completely drained.

They nodded and withdrew.

Torin was dismayed. His brow furrowed and he looked at Alessia in total bewilderment.

She gazed into his eyes, the most profoundly pained expression he had ever seen marking her features. Alessia started to speak twice, her lips parting then closing again as she struggled for words. She realized she did not even begin to know how to tell him. She bowed her head.

Torin could not stand to see her so troubled. He lifted her chin. "What is it, Less? Tell me. Whatever it is, we will deal with it together. Your heartache is mine, you know that," he urged her, cupping her face in his hand gently.

Alessia grimaced. This was the one thing they could not face together…the one thing that could tear them apart. The fate of the Empire. His desire to ease her pain, to share her burden only made what she had to tell him that much more difficult.

"What is happening? I don't understand…is Martin…alive?" he asked.

Alessia winced at his lack of comprehension. She leaned into him, resting her head against his. "No, my love," she whispered, "He gave his life for his Empire…for his people. He sacrificed everything…as must I." She pulled away from him then to look into his eyes.

Torin frowned, fear welling up in him.

"I…am…his sister…his twin. I am Uriel Septim's illegitimate daughter," she said.

Torin's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"I am…" Alessia started.

"…Empress!" Torin finished, his voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded grievously.

"How can this be? It makes no sense!" he said, shaking his head in denial.

"I wish it were not so," she said, handing him her mother's long hidden letter…the story of her past. "And I bear the mark of the Dragonborn," she added, "That mark you love so well on my thigh."

"The tatoo?" he asked in confusion.

Alessia frowned, "It is no tatoo, but a birthmark. I have had it since I was born. I did not realize it before, for I had never seen his, but is the same as Martin's…the same as all the Septims before us, Jauffre tells me," she corrected him.

Torin looked down at the note then, his brow furrowed. He read it in stunned silence.

When he had finished, Alessia said, "With Martin gone, I am the only living Septim. I am…heir to the throne," she said, the words sticking in her throat.

He was still trying to digest her words…the content of the letter. He listened as she explained everything Jauffre and Ocato had told her – all except the one obligation she was least prepared to meet…to give up her champion.

When Torin had taken a few moments to absorb it all, he nodded, taking her by the shoulders. "Alessia, it will be alright. You will be a wonderful Empress. You are strong and brave and kind…fair and just. You will make Cyrodiil great again," he said beaming with pride.

She smiled sadly. His pride in her was heartwarming, but he didn't understand the ramifications. "You do not yet understand my grief, Torin. Nor do you know what this means," Alessia said gently, "I am not afraid to be Empress, though it was a shock to find out Martin was my brother. All of that I could come to accept, given time. But they have told me of my responsibilities to the Crown…that…I must bear children to continue the royal line…"

Torin smiled. The idea of her carrying his child gave him great joy.

Alessia could see he yet misunderstood. "Torin…I…I must wed a king or prince…a man of noble lineage to continue the sacred line of Septim. It is…my duty…as Empress. I…cannot marry you. I cannot **be** with you any longer," she wailed.

He staggered backward as though struck, slumping into a chair. He could not breathe. She could not have hurt him worse had she stabbed him in the heart. It was not her doing, of course. And she was as pained by it as he. An irrational anger gripped him. He felt betrayed…by his Empire that he had given all to protect, by his government that he had fought for, by the Blades that he had joined to guard his Emperor with his life. After everything he had done, they would take **her** from him? The thing that mattered **most** to him? It would have been kinder to slay him now than sentence him to this torment. Bitterness engulfed him as he sat silently trying to cope with the news.

It was torture for Alessia to see him suffer so…as she had suffered before him. She fell to her knees in front of him and took his hands in hers, drawing them to her face, kissing them, resting her head against them.

He leaned down and kissed her hair tenderly, lingering there. He felt her shed tears and was overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. What could they do? There was nothing to be done. She was Empress and he a commoner…however famous a commoner, he was not of noble blood. They could not be together. She could not bear his children. The woman he loved beyond reason was being ripped from his arms and he was powerless to stop it. What matter that he had gained the Empire if he had lost his soul?


	20. Chapter 20

20.

"Suffering the Slings and Arrows"

Seven months. Seven months of watching her from afar…of longing for her without hope of reward. He had stayed because Alessia begged him to…because she needed his help…his friendship…to navigate the uncertain and sometimes treacherous waters of Imperial government. She didn't know the first thing about leading an Empire, she had said, but she trusted him as no other. She knew she could depend on him, and regardless of the fact that he was still a Blade, she knew he would protect her with his life…that he would have her back in all things.

He **would** do anything to help her…to make her difficult life easier. She had not asked for this, but she was doing the best she could. Torin was proud of her. In the few months since she had become ruler, Cyrodiil was well on its way to recovery. She had opened the Imperial treasury vaults to assist in the rebuilding efforts and started a number of initiatives to aid the refugees that were victims of Dagon's assault on Tamriel. Her courageous heroics in the long and arduous fight against the Daedric Prince had brought her great renown. The people loved her already for her kind and benevolent leadership and she had even now drawn comparisons to her ancestor, the young Empress Morihatha, the beautiful and beloved 25-year old woman who had taken over for her brother Uriel VI on his death.

But every day was a struggle for Torin. Alessia told him she knew how difficult it was for him to stay with her when they could no longer be lovers. But she didn't know. She could not know the agony it was to spend every day in her service without spending every night in her arms…to gain only glimpses of her on the busy days. And worse were the days she **could** spend time with him. They were exercises in frustration…trying to make casual conversation, pretending they felt nothing for one another when they wanted to rush into each other's arms. Though they were both careful never to discuss it, he knew she still felt for him as he did for her. He could see it in the way she looked at him. Always, she turned away forlornly when his eyes caught hers. He had fought every manner of beast and man. He had helped to conquer a Daedric Lord. And **this** was the hardest thing he had ever done…to support the woman he loved when he could not love her.

* * *

Alessia shook hands in the receiving line, only giving a perfunctory nod of the head to each of the guests that entered the Grand Ballroom. She was distracted, her eyes constantly looking past them, scanning the crowd for Torin. She was not sure if he would come. He had been so distant with her lately, as though he were trying to pull away. She could not blame him, of course. Still, it pained her.

The Blades were expected to attend, to guard the Empress, but Torin was not there. Alessia was bitterly disappointed. She took her place on the throne in the ballroom. The music began to play and the dancing began. She was wretched and realized it must show. She smiled weakly, feigning gaiety at the first great public event since Dagon had attacked the city. The people needed the distraction, and frankly, so did she. It was the perfect excuse to see Torin, to hold him in her arms again, if only on the dance floor, without too great a potential for scandal. There had been rumors that the Empress and the Champion had once been lovers and they were careful now not to find themselves in a compromising position for the sake of the Empire. But she ached to spend time with him again. And this night her yearnings were particularly sharp. But he had not attended.

The mood was festive for all but the Empress…and the tall, handsome man who stood at the edge of the activity looking on, trying to make himself unobtrusive - as though the dashing Champion of Cyrodiil could go unnoticed. The men nodded or bowed their respect. The women passed him fluttering and giggling, flirting outrageously, hoping he would stop one of them. He did not. There were many attractive women here that in another time he would have given a nod. Now, he was barely able to conceal his disinterest.

Torin watched the men and women whirling about the ballroom floor, bitterly remembering the promise he had made to himself. He had sworn he would learn to dance…that her wedding day would be a celebration with feasting and dancing as she wished….that he would hold her in his arms and whisk her around the room until she was dizzy with happiness. His face darkened. That was a long time ago…before all this…before he knew who she was…before she was his Empress. That was when he was allowed to love her…when he was **permitted** to hold her in his arms. He did not even wish to **be** here now, but he had attended, as was his duty, slipping in late through the back entrance to avoid her in the greeting line.

Against his will, his eyes drifted to Alessia then, the reluctant Empress of Cyrodiil, sitting on the throne that was thrust upon her, tearing them apart. She had a wistful look on her face as she observed the festivities…a sadness…a longing. And he knew that she was thinking the same thing. He turned his attention back to the dancing, feeling a vast emptiness where his heart used to be.

Dance after dance went by with Alessia pretending to enjoy herself. Then her eyes caught sight of him. He **had** come! He must have stolen in after the Ball had started…evading her perhaps? As he seemed to be doing more and more of late, she thought grievously. He looked magnificent in a dark blue dress tunic that made his deep blue eyes seem deeper and bluer. And he looked as miserable as she felt.

Torin watched them dance until he could stomach no more. It was too much for him. He turned and stepped out onto the balcony…away from the glamour, away from the swirling gowns…into the shadows that matched the darkness in his soul. The moon was full but there was no romance in it, as there had been so many nights before when he travelled with her. She was his ruler now, not his lover. He was her subject…at most, her friend. Never again would he know the warmth of her soft caress, the passion of her lips on his. He was overwhelmed with a sense of loss unlike any other he had ever known. His grievous thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of her voice behind him.

"You do not find the Grand Ball engaging?" Alessia asked, knowing full well he did not. He was an adventurer…a warrior. This bit of fluff could not possibly hold him. Perhaps…she knew of something that could yet gain his interest.

"I…I am not much for such events, your Highness," Torin answered awkwardly, trying hard not to look at her exquisite form over his shoulder. He leaned on the railing and stared off into the distance, wishing he was anywhere but here, standing next to the woman he loved. She was exceptionally beautiful tonight in an emerald velvet dress with a plunging neckline that accentuated her ample cleavage. A matching emerald pendant that perfectly complemented her sparkling deep green eyes adorned her graceful neck. He had stolen a glance from afar and she had taken his breath away. But he could not look at her now, not when she was so close.

Torin had done all he could to begin to distance himself from her in recent weeks. It had become too difficult. There was no hope for them to be together again. It was time he accepted it and moved on with his life. She was his Empress now, and he must not let himself dream otherwise.

Alessia stepped up beside him to look out over Imperial City…**her** city now. She said nothing for a few moments, wishing it was not…wishing she could just be one of the insignificant thousands that passed through its gates. Then she turned to him. "I would be honored if my favorite Blade would dance with me," she said softly…hopefully. She missed him. He seemed to be going out of his way not to spend time with her lately and she could not bear it.

"I am sorry, my Empress, I…do not know how. I never learned to dance," he said, avoiding her gaze, secretly grateful he had an excuse.

She smiled patiently at him, "Come, I will teach you. It is a simple thing. You are a very agile man. I'm certain you will pick it up in no time," she promised, holding out her hand to him.

He could hear the warmth in her voice, but he dare not face her. "I…do not think it is wise, Your Highness," Torin said quietly, shaking his head.

Alessia frowned at his coolness. He was using her title as a shield to keep her at arm's length. Oh, Torin, she thought woefully, it has been difficult for me as well. But this awkwardness between them was excruciating. Surely they could be friends, at least. Surely there was some way to bridge the growing distance between them. "Is this how it is going to be between us? You cannot even look at me…" she said plaintively.

He cursed his own weakness. He forced himself to turn to her, to meet her mesmerizing eyes. He swallowed hard. "Forgive me, Empress," he managed.

She winced at his continued formality. "My name is Alessia," she said softly, "You used to not find it so difficult to say."

"There are many things that are more difficult now," Torin replied bitterly.

"Yes, that is so," Alessia responded, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "And your answer is to treat me like a stranger. It is one thing when we are surrounded by others, but when we are alone…to never again speak my name or meet my gaze…to treat me as though I never caressed your face, pressed my lips to yours, or made love to you." She reached up to run her finger along the scar on his jaw as she had a hundred times before.

Torin reflexively turned away from her hand.

Alessia inhaled sharply. She had to fight now to hold her tears back. "And now you shrink from my touch…" she whispered, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. "What have I done to make you act thus? What have I done to make you treat me so? To make you so angry?"

Torin shook his head in anguish and took her by the shoulders, "No…no…it is not like that…" he stumbled. He could not let her think this was her fault…that she had done something wrong.

She saw it then…in his eyes. She was wrong about everything. He was not angry with her. He stayed away from her because he did not trust himself around her. And that was different. In that moment, she lost all sense of propriety...all sense of duty to her station. She pushed him into the dark corner of the balcony against the ivy-covered wall and pressed into him, seizing his lips passionately, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him to her.

He responded at first as though in a dream. To taste her lips again… Then, he came to his senses and pulled away, prying himself free from her grip. "No…we cannot," Torin murmured.

"Say my name," she whispered, looking deep into his eyes.

The torment on her face rent his soul. "You are my Empress," he responded, trying to resist her.

"My name…say it," she insisted, leaning into him again and planting small kisses on the corner of his mouth. "Give me back my name, Torin," she pleaded.

"I…I…" he stammered, his resolve weakening as the embers he had so carefully tamped down reignited within him.

She kissed him again, more deeply.

He pulled her to him and murmured in her ear, "Alessia…my Alessia."

She started to cry then, tears of joy and grief intermingling. "Torin…" she sobbed, the stress of all they had been through these last months finally taking its toll. She gave in to it, gripping him in desperation, the tears flowing freely.

Torin looked pained, and clutched her tightly to him and held her. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry, Less. I would not hurt you for the world," he said softly.

They stood there, holding each other in shadow, each knowing there was no answer.

Then Alessia gathered herself and pulled away. "I…I have to go back inside…" she said softly.

"I know," he whispered.

"I must look terrible," she said, wiping her eyes.

Torin smiled tenderly, shaking his head to contradict her. "No sight could be more beautiful to my eyes," he replied sincerely.

She smiled sadly at him. "Goodnight, my Blade," Alessia said.

"Goodnight, my Empress," Torin returned, the roles that had been forced on them dropping back like a veil over their conversation.

Alessia nodded and turned to go. She took a few steps then stopped and turned to capture his face in her mind one last time this night. Giving him one last plaintive gaze, she returned to the ballroom.

Torin watched her go silently, his gut wrenching in turmoil. What could they do? What could be said? It was impossible. And he was overwhelmed with loneliness.


	21. Chapter 21

21.

"Vengeance is Mine"

Alessia was heartsick. The day had come. The day she had dreaded since they proclaimed her Empress. It had all been decided. The Elder Council had found their perfect candidate for a marriage of state…Prince Vaelor of Shornhelm, a Breton noble, and descendant of Andorak, Uriel IV's son. Andorak was a Septim not by blood but by marriage and, as such, his claim to the throne was denied by the Elder Council back in the Third Era and he was disinherited. A cousin more closely related to the original Septim line had been proclaimed Emperor, leading to a war that ultimately ended in the Council granting Andorak the High Rock kingdom of Shornhelm. His descendants had ruled there ever since.

High Rock was at the far northern border of Tamriel, separated from Cyrodiil by the province of Hammerfell. It encompassed many lands and clans, fiercely independent and sometimes contentious. Once, there were a hundred small squabbling kingdoms in the land of High Rock. Today, just two decades after the mysterious Miracle of Peace, also known as the Warp in the West, there were but a handful. Overnight on that fateful day, the 10th of Frostfall, a strange force exploded over the Iliac Bay, displacing armies and decimating whole territories, leaving a few humbled kingdoms where there had been many. It was a fractured land with every faction in constant struggle for domination. Imperial presence was tolerated, but barely. Shornhelm was one of the few kingdoms sympathetic to Imperial rule, dating back to their Septim connections. The Elder Council hoped they could solidify the Imperial hold in the North. It was a chance to unite the outlying High Rock tribes under the banner of the Empire at long last. The land of Bretons and Orcs had long been splintered and resistant to Imperial influence…but with one of their own as Emperor…Ocato and the Council felt sure the tribes would fall in line, their suspicions eased.

Not much was known about the Prince personally. He was a private man, keeping his business within his own borders. Vaelor had stepped forward to offer this strategic alliance in the months following Alessia's coronation, saying he recognized the need to strengthen the Empire in his land and he had the means and the connections in High Rock to accomplish this long desired Imperial goal. He claimed to hold influence with the rulers of Wayrest, Daggerfall, and Camlorn and he maintained friendly relations with the Orcs of Orsinium. Northpoint and Evermore would follow the others he assured the Council. It was a matter of building the necessary trust with the Imperial government…the clans of High Rock were famously suspicious of the Empire and of each other. An alliance by marriage would put those issues to rest once and for all, he persuaded. And his kingdom was considerably wealthy. He would add much needed resources to a badly strained treasury. The Elder Council agreed. He had the bloodlines, the political clout, the money. And if he could truly unite High Rock under the Imperial banner…

Alessia sighed. The only thing he did not have, which the Council cared nothing about, was her heart. This move was expected to lift the morale of the people and give them hope for the future of the Septim line, the first great hope since Dagon had attacked the city. She grimaced at the irony. For **her** it was a crushing blow, robbing her of hope and destroying her morale.

Even though she and Torin had both expected it for some time now…still, hearing the news had rocked her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there had been hope. She had been clinging to a small kernel of it…a belief that somehow they could escape this tragedy that had befallen them. She had held out for that. In fact, she did not know until this very afternoon, just how much that prospect had kept her going. Now, hope had been replaced by despair. There was no running from her destiny. She felt empty…as though she had truly lost him only now…for she had still considered him hers, though they had not been lovers for many months now. As far as she knew, there had been no other for him. Now, she must let him go, finally and forever. Her last shred of hope was gone with the announcement of her engagement to this Breton Prince.

Torin had heard of it before her. He had been near Council Chambers when the vote had taken place and Ocato had told him thoughtlessly. Alessia was desperate to see him, to talk to him about it, but she had been unable to find him all day. She suspected he had gone off somewhere to be alone…to lick his wounds.

She was right. Torin had needed to gather himself before he could face her again. It would be different now. There was no more talk of some distant future wedding. It was happening. And he had needed to grieve alone, feeling as though he had lost her all over again. As long as she was not married, he had felt he could be here to help her. He could still feel the connection to her. But now…

* * *

He did not return to his room until late and the rest of the palace was asleep. The moonlight poured through the window in his room. He stopped to stare at the great orb in the sky for a moment before doffing his tunic and trudging toward his bed.

Suddenly, he became keenly aware he was not alone in his room. He launched himself and rolled to his weapons, pulling his sword from its sheath in one fluid move, and holding it up defensively at the shadows where he believed the intruder lurked.

Alessia smiled beneath her cloak. His agility never failed to impress her. What enemy stood a chance against her Grayrider? "You have already conquered my soul and stolen my heart, Champion. Would you **slay** your Empress now?" Alessia asked softly.

"Alessia…" Torin breathed. "You should not be here," he whispered, his heart pounding from his chest as she stepped from the shadows into the moonlight that streamed into the room.

She lowered the hood of the rich velvet cloak she wore, revealing her beautiful face to him. "This is **exactly** where I should be…where I would be every night were I not forced into servitude to my Empire," she returned, feeling her eyes well.

"Alessia…" he started. "Do not do this…" Torin pleaded. "It will only make things more difficult. Why would you want to torment us both?" he asked mournfully.

"Are we not already tormented? Is it not already impossibly difficult? The Grand Ball three weeks ago has proven to me that we will never be over each other…that time is not the answer. That…there is nothing that can erase what is between us…" she lamented.

"Alessia…" he cut her off softly.

She didn't know why, but she was afraid of his next words, as though she sensed the pain that would issue from their utterance.

"I…I've been thinking about this…for some time. But…since…" Torin stammered, unable to come up with a way his decision would not hurt her. He had thought about it, how he would say it. But now…when the time had come…he could not find the words. Because he knew it would cause her pain and on the deepest level of his being he could not bear to do so. He took a deep breath. "I think it's best if I leave," he finally blurted.

Alessia froze, her mind reeling. She turned away from him to hide the panic she felt. She had feared as much…in the way he seemed to be struggling to pull away from her. But she had prayed it would not come to pass. He might as well have slain her, she thought, for if he left her, it would cut out her heart.

"Surely it will make it easier on both of us. Especially now, when…" he could not bring himself to say the words…that she was marrying another man.

"There was a time when you would risk anything to be with me…when you would let nothing keep you from me…" she said plaintively.

He nodded. "And were it possible…" Torin started.

Alessia cut him off, "… 'and if it is not possible, I will shake the very foundations of the Nirn and Mundus until the Gods themselves take pity on my hapless soul and make it possible.' Is that not what you said? Will you not still move heaven and earth to be with me?" she asked in distress. "You swore you would not leave me again…that you would rather die than leave me," she reminded him, turning to him with tears in her eyes.

He gazed at her for a long moment, great anguish in his heart. "I **am** dying…slowly…without you. And now you are betrothed to another man. Would you have me suffer at your side needlessly while you wed another and take him to your bed?" he asked her plaintively, the words sticking in his throat.

She said nothing, her heart wrestling with grief and guilt and love.

"If you order me to stay, I will, my Empress, but…" Torin started.

"You know I will not. I am not so self-centered as that. I would not see you tortured to satisfy my own longing to see your face, to share a few words, to graze your hand in accidental collision. Forgive my selfishness in keeping you here at my side. I…had hoped it would be bearable…that we could master this terrible situation. But I can see now it is painfully impossible. My life is not my own anymore…it is planned out for me now. I am merely a title, with obligations and expectations…the greatest of which was that I give up the man I love to wed a potential ally…to trade my heart for the hope of political gain and the perpetuation of the regime. It is a cruel game, politics…and one I would walk away from if I could. But I am trapped by my blood…by an accident of birth. It grieves me no end that you were caught up in this…that you have been made to pay because you care for me and I can no longer return your affections, much as I would wish it. So I give you leave to go. But I would ask one last favor of you, my Grayrider. Stand by me as my Blade until the wedding. Give me that time to prepare myself for what is to come," she pleaded, her eyes shining. Give me time to prepare for a loveless marriage that I have no say in, she thought to herself grievously.

Torin nodded. He had no desire to punish her further. He could make it a few weeks longer.

* * *

Boethiah had thought long on it…it festered in him like a maggot-ridden wound. The audacity of the mortal to trick a Daedric Prince…to dismiss his favor as though it were nothing! Men killed for such an honor! And this adventurer…this **nothing** mortal… had spit in his face. But he would pay. Boethiah would not underestimate him as his foolish brother Mehrunes Dagon had. And he would not confront the man directly as Dagon did in his bloated arrogance. Boethiah snorted. Dagon spent his time muttering and cursing to himself now, in the wake of his ignominious defeat at the hands of the three mortals. No. Brute violence was not the way of **this** Prince. **His** revenge would be more subtle, more devious, and, by contrast, more devastating than an open assault. The punishment must mirror the crime. The Prince of Attribution's Share had decided he would take **Torin's** most prized possession and destroy it before his eyes. Pity. Though he despised mortals in general, this woman, now Empress of Tamriel, was an exceptional specimen. No matter. He would see her ended slowly…painfully…to wreak his vengeance on the accursed blasphemer. And he would teach all mortals a lesson in the offing. With the death of the last Septim, the Empire would come crashing down around them. He would topple this regime in retaliation for challenging the Lords of Oblivion, avenging Dagon's humiliating banishment as well. A most brilliant plan, the Daedric Prince complimented himself.

He had called upon one of his most loyal and well-disguised minions to do the deed. The mortal had secretly worshipped him for many years, unbeknownst to any, and he had been well-rewarded for his loyalty. A powerful Breton mage and ruler of his own realm, the man's thirst for revenge and power would serve him well. Now, he was required to perform a task of great importance to his Lord…the ruin of the Champion of Cyrodiil. This Grayrider would indeed pay the price for his impudence.

* * *

Prince Vaelor of Shornhelm rode smugly in the elegant carriage that took him toward Imperial City and his destiny. At last, after years of impotent bitterness, his family would finally get what they deserved…they would finally reclaim their due heritage. **They** were the rightful heirs to the throne…it had been stolen from them when the Elder Council ousted his ancestor Andorak.

He had but to marry this woman and he was Emperor. Vaelor had heard of her great beauty. But that was of no concern to him in the long run. He would enjoy her a short time and then he would follow his Master's plan…a slow and painful poison he had concocted years ago…undetectable, simulating incurable disease. He was a gifted alchemist, after all. A few months of patience to allay any suspicions, and then he would rule alone as it should be…as it was meant to be. His Lord Boethiah's vengeance would be complete and his family restored to their rightful place. The task was all but accomplished. He need but display the proper etiquette prior to the wedding and all would be his. And he could be charming when the need arose, he thought with a sneer.

Vaelor smiled a bitter vengeful smile. Soon.


	22. Chapter 22

22.

"A Wedding and Two Funerals"

The wedding was a grand affair, with great pomp and circumstance. Had it been Alessia's choice it would have been small and simple…a civil ceremony befitting the lack of love between them…befitting the political arrangement it truly was. A marriage before the Gods should be one that means something…a union born of love, such as the wedding she would have had with Torin.

Alessia sighed. Torin…she had seen little of him these last weeks…by design, she felt. He was trying to ease his way out. She knew how much he loved her and she harbored no anger at him for leaving. She understood. It was terrible for them both. But this was **her** burden, being Empress. It was innately unfair of her to expect him to share it…to expect him to stand by and watch while she lived out her life married to another man.

Prince Vaelor was polite enough and not unattractive. But there was something about the Breton Alessia could not define…an oiliness that made him seem untrustworthy. Perhaps it was the politician in him. She was not practiced in the game that he had had years to master. There was nothing specific that she could pinpoint, and she suspected her view was colored by the fact she desperately did not want to marry him…that she bore a not-so-hidden resentment that he had forced the marriage issue for her and driven Torin to leave her. Yet she was not being fair, she knew. She would have to curtail her bias against the High Rock Prince. She would have to make an effort. He was going to be her husband…the father of her children, she thought, a lump rising in her throat. She cursed herself for putting Torin off when he had asked her to marry him. She could not have guessed this would happen, of course, but perhaps…if they had been already wed when she discovered her heritage…

Alessia shook her head imperceptibly to ward off the "what-ifs" that had plagued her since she had been named Empress. She had asked him to be here, to see her through this despised obligation before he left. But her eyes scanned the crowd and could not find him. She barely heard the ceremony as the Brother of the Nines droned on. Vaelor stood beside her in his most exquisite finery. But Alessia had not noticed…her eyes were yet for one man. And then she saw him, off to the side, just beyond Vaelor, standing by the door. He was not dressed for the formality of the event. He was dressed to travel. And she knew. He was leaving now. Their eyes locked. All the emotion they shared passed between them then.

"Your Highness?" the Brother asked, bringing her back into the moment. "Do you agree to take this man as your husband?"

A startled Alessia returned her attention to the matter at hand. She opened her mouth to reply, but the words would not come. She glanced at Torin's anguished face again.

Torin forced himself to smile encouragingly at her. He nodded at the inevitability of her action, giving her permission to fatally wound his heart.

Alessia felt the tears well in her eyes. "I…will…" she said, so softly it could barely be heard.

Torin slowly turned away, opening the door behind him and slipping out, taking with him Alessia's heart. The tears began to flow then, uncontrolled. Her new life had just begun…and it was already over.

* * *

Two days after her marriage, she sat alone in the Imperial Garden, seeking the privacy she needed to cope with her newfound situation. This place gave her some modicum of peace, but there was nothing that could fill the emptiness she felt. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

Henrik Bardur navigated the maze of hedges his Empress had used to protect her from the unwanted eyes of her Empire. Once Imperial Watch Captain, now a Blade and friend to both the Empress and Champion of Cyrodiil, Henrik came up to her and fell to one knee in homage. "Your Highness," he said. Then he glanced around to make sure they were alone.

Torin had sworn him to secrecy. The contents of the letter he had were meant only for her eyes, Torin had told him as he packed to leave. He had trusted Henrik. The two men had become fast friends since that fateful day when Uriel was slain. It had saddened Bardur greatly when Torin finally chose to leave Imperial City. But he understood. He felt for his friend. And for his new Empress, whom he had become fond of, as he would a daughter. He had seen the great love that was between them…that in the flash of an eye had become forbidden. Henrik was a happily married man, and he could not imagine what they were going through. Now he meant to see to it that his Empress at least got the letter from Torin, that she at least could know his final words for her. Young Grayrider held great passion for his Empress, and the Blade did not doubt the letter could never be read by another without scandal, without potentially throwing the fragile Empire into political upheaval.

"What is it, Henrik?" Alessia asked him, certain he would not have interrupted her reverie without just cause.

"I…have something for you," he said pulling the letter from his tunic and placing it reverently into her hands, "From the Champion."

Her heart skipped a beat, and her hands began to tremble.

Bardur grimaced at her pain. "I will take my leave, Empress, if I may, and give you your privacy," he said rising.

Alessia nodded absent-mindedly, waving him off with her arm, still staring at the precious parchment in her hands.

As he stepped away from her, she stopped him, looking sincerely into the older man's eyes. "Henrik…thank you…" she said emotionally, knowing the risk he took carrying such a letter to her.

He nodded and bowed and left her to her feelings.

When he had gone, she slowly broke the seal and opened the note he had left her, hands shaking.

_My Empress,_

_ None of this is your fault, my love, I know that. But we both know I could not stay any longer. We are in each other's blood and nothing good could come of my presence…for always I would yearn for you, and the fate of the Empire now rides on your union with another._

_If words could convey what my heart feels for you…but, alas, I am not a poet, and no words exist that could capture my feeling. Know that I did not live before I met you and I will never regret what we had, just as I will never again know it. You are my Empress, but you will always be my heart, my breath, my soul. Should you ever need me, I will be at your side again as I am in spirit now. I wish you every happiness. And though I leave you now, I give you back your sweet name, Less…my darling, beautiful Alessia. Forever will that name live on my lips. _

_ Torin_

Alessia clutched the letter to her breast and released the grief in her soul. When her tears were spent and she had given full voice to her anguish, she dried her eyes and pressed the letter to her lips as though by doing so he would know it. Then she slowly made her way back into the palace and her duty.

* * *

Torin was at loose ends when he rode out of Imperial City. He knew only he had to leave. But as he rode away, it occurred to him that if he could not be there to watch over her, she needed a friend…one who was bound to a higher power than the Emperor-by-marriage…one who would be loyal to Alessia and only her. He had met this Breton, this Vaelor of Shornhelm. And the man did not impress the Champion of Cyrodiil. Of course, Torin could not claim objectivity and would consider no man worthy of his precious Alessia, but…there was something that bothered him about this Breton. And his instincts were seldom wrong. He had begun to worry for Alessia's happiness. If he had taken to the man as he had to Martin, it would be different. But Vaelor made him uneasy somehow. This nagging apprehension plagued him as rode to Cheydinhal.

* * *

Mother Worthing had returned from the festivities. She had gone to Alessia's wedding as an honored guest of the Empress. But she returned concerned for her young friend. The girl was clearly unhappy on what should be the happiest day of her life. She had tried to hide it from her surrogate mother, but Mother Worthing knew the child too well, and before she had left Imperial City, Alessia had broken down and told her everything. It was a tragedy, this. First, the poor girl finds out her brother was killed and she is Empress in his stead…then she has the love of her life ripped from her and another thrust in his place. A forced marriage…never good, Mother Worthing thought, though expedience often dictated these arranged affairs for the royal line. And the young adventurer, now Champion of Cyrodiil, a great man by **all** accounts…she had taken a liking to him instantly. She had seen the beginnings of what was between him and Alessia, and she had approved. She shook her head sadly. This High Rock Prince…Mother Worthing was charitable in thought and deed, but she didn't take to the man. A tragedy, indeed.

There was a knock at her door. Mother Worthing was astonished to find the very man she had been thinking of on the other side of it. She looked at him with great compassion. His sorrow was etched on his face. "I am so sorry for you, Ser Grayrider. Alessia told me everything. It grieves me that you two have suffered so…and after everything you have done to save us all," she said sadly.

He nodded his appreciation. "I…have come to ask a great favor of you…one I have no right to ask," he said.

Mother Worthing was intrigued.

Torin continued. "I have grave reservations about this Breton Alessia has wed. In fairness, I cannot give proper cause for my suspicion. But I can promise you it is not because I love her, and do not wish her to be with another…though that is surely so. I do not believe I trust him…to take care of her…to look after her. I cannot explain…" he fumbled.

Mother Worthing raised her hand to ease his discomfort. "There is no need to explain. I am afraid I have the same misgivings after only a few minutes with the man. He…put me on edge…made me uncomfortable. It was strange," she said thoughtfully, "But I share your concerns," she finished.

Torin looked at her hopefully then. "Then you will understand why I must ask of you this sacrifice…" He wet his lips nervously. Alessia had spoken often of the Mother, as though she were her true mother. The Sister of the Nines had not just looked after his Alessia. Mother Worthing had raised her as a daughter. Torin could only hope she still felt that way about his Empress. "Alessia is alone. Yes, there are Blades and counselors and servants to look after her physical needs, but there is no one she can talk to now, no one she can trust that will not answer to the new Emperor since I have gone. She needs a friend, Mother. She needs **you**. Will you not go to Imperial City and guide her? Advise her? Be her friend and confidante? Help her through what will surely be a difficult life? It…is not my place… to ask this of you…to place this burden on you…but…I love her so," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mother Worthing thought about it for only a moment before she said, "I have not finished unpacking. I can leave tomorrow, and they can forward my things. Sister Eugenna can take over the orphanage. Alessia has already seen to the future funding of it," she said.

Torin expelled a great sigh of relief. At least she would not be alone. And that gave him some measure of comfort. He fell to one knee and touched his forehead to Mother Worthing's hand in deference and gratitude. "Thank you, Mother. I am eternally in your debt. If you ever have need of me, please do not hesitate to send for me," he said appreciatively.

In truth, Mother Worthing felt better now. She had left Alessia behind reluctantly, feeling unsettled about it…as though she was not leaving the girl in good hands. And she thought Torin was right, Alessia would need a friend.


	23. Chapter 23

23.

"Dying to See You Again"

It was strange. Alessia had not been feeling well for more than a week. At first she had dismissed it, but she seemed to be worse every day. In the beginning, she was just tired…listless. Then, she began to feel ill to her stomach. A thought had passed through her head that perhaps after three months of Vaelor's mauling of her body that she was with child. And she was torn by the thought. She had come to dislike her new husband. Certainly, the fact that he was not Torin had made it more difficult for her to accept him. But it was more than that. She felt more uncomfortable around him every day. There was something in the way he handled himself around others. He was imperious and arrogant. And there were times when he clearly overstepped his bounds. A smugness clung to him…as though he was privy to some great secret that no one else shared. The thought of her children having Vaelor for a father disturbed her. She was certain he would not be good to them…not loving and kind as Torin would have been. Alessia chastised herself. She had to stop making these comparisons…she would only drive herself mad. There was no one like Torin, and it was no use measuring Vaelor against him. The Breton would always fall short. He was crude and rough in their intimate dealings and she noted a cruel streak in him from the first. She did her best to get along with him during the day, and at night she made herself endure his touch…for the sake of the Empire. But she was learning to hate this life. If not for Mother Worthing, she would have found it unbearable. Alessia smiled when she remembered her great joy at the Sister's return to Imperial City. She had looked at the Mother questioningly, and the woman had hugged her and whispered, "The Champion of Cyrodiil thinks you do not have enough friends in the city, and that perhaps you might enjoy some of Mother Worthing's clucking to pass your days. I think he loves you very much and is watching over you from afar. Take comfort in that, child." Alessia had pulled back in surprise, her eyes shining as the emotion welled up in her. Torin had sent her! She had smiled at the woman she loved as a true mother and embraced her, murmuring softly, "Thank you, Mother. I'm glad you're here."

* * *

The doctors assured her she was not with child. After two more weeks, Alessia was worse. They did not know what was wrong with her. She spent less time performing her Imperial duties and more time in her bed. Vaelor had become very solicitous of her, seeing to her needs, filling in for her in routine situations as Emperor. He insisted that she have the very best care and the finest physicians. She was Empress! But the doctors seemed incapable of helping her and could only advise rest. After nearly a month, they realized that she was sicker than first thought. More and more Vaelor took over her care. The Emperor had long-since begun restricting visitors, isolating her for the "health and safety" of those in the palace in the case the mysterious malady was contagious.

Mother Worthing was beside herself with worry. She had not been able to even see Alessia for nearly a week, by the Emperor's orders. She sent in notes and the Emperor returned her answers in responses he had written himself. The Empress was too weak to write, he explained. The Mother had sent word to Torin over a week ago, but had not yet heard from him. And Alessia's condition seemed to be spiraling downward quickly.

* * *

Torin had floundered about after leaving Imperial City. He had no real direction…he had no real desire to do anything. He had left his heart behind and nothing interested him…not wine, not women, not adventuring. For a time, he stayed at Battlehorn, but quickly became bored and restless. He plundered a few dungeons, but the thrill was gone and he certainly had no need of the money. When he received word from Mother Worthing that Alessia was gravely ill, his heart stopped. Within the hour, he was racing back to Imperial City.

When he arrived, he made for Mother Worthing's quarters immediately. Her note was insistent that he come to her first. Something about the choice of her words made him acquiesce to her wishes, in spite of his great desire to see Alessia. The palace, indeed the city, seemed strangely quiet, almost oppressively so…a feeling of gloom hanging in the air. Torin's sense of foreboding increased and he cursed himself again for ever leaving. He found the Mother weeping in her room. Now he was genuinely frightened.

"Oh, Ser Grayrider, it is terrible! They think she is **dying**! The doctors have given up. They can do nothing. The mages at the Arcane University have tried everything they know. The Emperor will not let anyone in to see her for fear of the disease spreading. He claims he wants to protect us all…to let her die in peace. I have not been able to see or speak with her for nearly three weeks! She is…like a daughter to me…" Mother Worthing struggled.

Torin was in shock. Nooo… He comforted the Mother distractedly, trying to absorb what he had heard. But he could not accept it. There must be something he could do…some remedy they hadn't tried. He had to know what was happening. He had to see her. He didn't care what happened to him. He had to see her again before…but how? If she was in isolation, guards on her door…

"I will not let this happen to her, Mother, if it is humanly possible…" he said encouragingly. Then he stopped, thinking of his words to Alessia, '…if it is not possible, I will shake the very foundations of the Nirn and Mundus…' He steeled his jaw. "She will not die, Mother Worthing, I swear it…I will not let her. Though I must move heaven and earth, I will not let her die," he vowed.

* * *

"Your Highness, I **beg** you, I must see the Empress. I may be able to help her. Please. I promise I will not agitate her in any way," Torin pleaded in the throne room of the Imperial Palace.

The new Emperor was aghast at the effrontery of this man. He was the Empress' former lover! And it was obvious he still felt for her. Vaelor had no intention of letting this Grayrider anywhere near her, Champion or not. On one level, his pride would not permit him to be cuckolded in this way…though Vaelor certainly did not love Alessia. But more importantly, he could not allow the Champion access to her. No one must suspect she was being poisoned. And this man above all…this man who clearly was so passionate about her, who held great influence in the Empire…might cause him serious trouble. Vaelor made himself appear outwardly calm and grieved. "I'm afraid I cannot allow it. **Your** presence could not help but agitate her and she needs rest. She has served her Empire honorably and with great courage. She deserves to die in peace. And there is the matter of contagion…" the Emperor started.

"I do not care…I will take the risk…she would want to see me before she…" Torin argued.

The Emperor lost his composure then, leaping from his throne, throwing down his staff and stomping his foot. "You impudent…you **left** her! You abandoned your charge as a Blade! **Why** would she want to see you? She has long since cast your memory aside! And you do not **care **about contagion?! Do you hear that, people of Tamriel?" Vaelor shouted to the Court, wide-eyed with fury, "Your great 'Champion' does not **care** if he causes a plague and thousands of you die! He will risk **your** lives to force an audience with your helpless, dying Empress for who **knows** what purpose! Bah! You are no Champion of the people!" he indicted, scathingly.

There was a murmuring in the crowd.

Jauffre had been standing dutifully at his Emperor's side, restraining his emotion. But he could not help but react now. His jaw dropped in disbelief and outrage. This was appalling! Torin had served the people of Tamriel bravely and repeatedly, saving them time and again from the dangers they faced. He did not deserve such despicable treatment from his Emperor!

Torin paled. This had turned quickly on him. Vaelor was a brilliant manipulator. That much was clear. "That is not what I meant, your Highness…" he began.

"Hmmmph! We…the people of Tamriel…and I their humble servant, only know what we hear. We hear your selfish demands to foist yourself on our beloved Empress in her time of affliction, when what she needs is rest, when what she deserves is to die with dignity. And we hear your callous indifference to **our** fate…the fate of the Empire," Vaelor retorted.

"No! I am **faithful** to the Empire…I **fought** for Cyrodiil…for **all** of Tamriel…I helped defeat Dagon, and…" Torin stammered, trying to defend himself.

"And so you think your military service places you above your liege?! Gives you rights to make demands of your Emperor? You despicably try to use your influence to further your agenda. I will not let you cause our precious Empress distress. I will not have it! I am Emperor! My will is law!" Vaelor fairly shrieked, his voice shrill with anger.

"I…I have no wish add to her suffering. I desire only to speak with her…to help her however I may..." Torin tried to explain, feeling his own anger rising at this pointed attack on his character. "And I have manipulated no one! I only mention my service to the Empire to show my loyalty…"

"And do you think your skill with a sword entitles you to more than the other brave soldiers who fought and died to end Dagon's attack, that you should be permitted to harass our brave and beloved Empress even as she lays dying?!" Vaelor put to him.

"That is not true! None of this is true! I am not the man you paint…"

Vaelor grinned inwardly in triumph, allowing a condescending sneer to fall over his thin, cruel lips. "And now you call your Emperor a liar to his face," he said sadly. "See how the mighty have fallen into decadence and corruption," he shouted, sweeping his arm regally over Torin's head at the Court members who stood agape at the drama unfolding before them. Vaelor turned his attention back to a stunned Torin. "If you truly cared for her, you would leave her in peace. But you are a self-seeking opportunist who cares only for his own desires. This audience is over, adventurer. You will not see the Empress. She is **my** wife. She married me of her own volition. Leave my presence before I have you thrown in a dungeon!" Vaelor ordered imperiously. Then he turned back to retake his place on the throne. He scowled at the astonished Champion rooted to the floor. "We have no need of a 'hero' like you," he snapped scornfully. "Begone!" he said, waving his hand dismissively.

Torin was in shock. How had this Breton managed to sully his reputation in but a few moments…to paint him a vile, selfish predator? He turned and walked numbly out of the throne room, feeling the confused and bewildered stares of the Imperial City Court on his back.

Jauffre shook his head behind the throne. This was disgraceful! At that moment, he was ashamed to be a Blade.

* * *

Jauffre and Henrik were overjoyed to see Torin again, but under these terrible circumstances… They had tried to convince him that everything that could be done for Alessia, had been. The best physicians and mages had seen her and treated her. Still, she faded. Still, she worsened.

But Torin simply could not accept it. He was not willing to give up on her. If nothing could be done in Imperial City, they could take her elsewhere to be treated. Cyrodiil was not the only province with healing skills, there was Morrowind to the east, Black Marsh, Valenwood and Elsweyr to the south, and Skyrim and Hammerfell to the north. Why hadn't they sought out help from the other provinces? Torin argued. She was too weak to be moved, the Emperor had told them. And there was a fear of contagion…of spreading this terrible disease like a plague throughout the Empire. As much as they wanted to help her, they assured him they could not…that they had already done everything possible. Torin's eyes had narrowed at that. No, they hadn't. But **he** would.

"I need to see her," Torin said firmly.

"But **no** **one** can see her by the Emperor's strict orders," Jauffre explained again, "**Especially** not **you**, Torin. You know that, lad. He made it plain."

Torin shook his head. "I **will** see her. No one can stop me. Do you not think it strange no one has been allowed in to see her? Yet no one else has fallen ill with this disease? The Emperor sees her regularly and he seems at the peak of health. If…she is truly dying, you cannot ask me not to speak to her…to see her one last time," Torin said plaintively.

Jauffre and Henrik exchanged glances. It was heartbreaking to see their friend, the Champion of Cyrodiil, the man who had saved them all from extinction at the hands of Mehrunes Dagon, suffer so.

Jauffre placed his hand on Torin's shoulder. "The Emperor has assured us his bold measure to restrict visitors is what keeps contagion at bay. He claims he is willing to risk only himself for his wife. It is a stringent precaution surely, but not necessarily cause for alarm. Torin…what happened to you today was inexcusable, and I am deeply grieved by it. I know how much you care for her, lad, but you do not have the authority to override the Emperor's order…and…**he** is her husband, not you, lamentable as that is. You have no **grounds** to see her anymore…not without her express consent…and the Emperor forbids **anyone** to see her. I can tell you from personal experience, he is not a compassionate man. And you have angered him. He will not let the Empress' former lover in to see her, even if it is only to say goodbye," the old Blades Grandmaster said gently.

Torin's face fell. He put his head in his hands and murmured, "Alessia…" He had to try. Somehow…no matter the cost to him, he had to see her, even if it meant defying the Emperor's decree…even if it meant branding himself a traitor. If he caught this strange ailment, then so be it. He would isolate himself to keep from harming others. But he could not let her die alone…thinking…that he had not come to her side when she needed him…that he had not tried everything he could to save her. He had promised her…he had sworn he would come…

Jauffre was moved by the young hero's grief. They owed him more than this, damn it! Cyrodiil owed the Empress who had fought at his side more. "Torin, boy, do not do anything foolish. The consequences could be grave," he warned. Jauffre hesitated a moment, as though he were debating something. "Henrik, give us a moment alone. I think I can talk some sense into him," Jauffre said.

Henrik nodded, patted Torin on the shoulder sympathetically, and left the room.

"Listen to me, now Torin. I sent Henrik away because I am not willing to involve him in this. I will help you…" Jauffre started.

Torin's head snapped up, hope recapturing his features from the despair that had claimed them.

"You both deserve better than what fate has given you. But you risk your life and mine if we are caught. I am old and have lived my life, but you…you must be sure, lad. I will tell you this whole thing does not sit well with me either. I, too, do not like it that no one can see the Empress. It may be true that she is contagious, but…" he said, tilting his head suspiciously.

Torin's eyes narrowed. Jauffre's instincts matched his own. "I will do what I must to see her," he said resolutely.

Jauffre nodded. "The Emperor has set three Blades to guard the door to her suite at any given time. It would be impossible to get past them unnoticed. And I know you would not want to harm your brothers," he said. "You know some invisibility spells, yes?" he asked.

Torin began to follow his drift. He nodded.

"I will take a shift when the Emperor is not in with her. You will follow us in. I will find a way to let you in to her chambers. But you must be swift and you must be silent. And you will have to exit her rooms another way…perhaps the balcony. Can you do that? Do you still wish to take the risk?" Jauffre asked him.

Torin stood and grasped his Grandmaster's arm. "Thank you, my friend. I will never forget this," he said, his eyes shining with emotion.

"We owe you much, Champion of Cyrodiil. It is about time we expressed our gratitude in a meaningful way. Tomorrow then," he said sadly.

Torin smiled hopefully, "Tomorrow." Then he left the room to begin making preparations, nodding to Henrik as he passed.

Henrik came back into the room and looked at Jauffre questioningly.

Jauffre nodded. "I think he has listened to me now," he said, a grim smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

* * *

Vaelor hummed gaily to himself as he poured out her nightly dose of the "medicine" and brought it to her. It would not be long now…a week, maybe less. Everything must be above suspicion…he could not accelerate his plan in any way, though he longed to. He stood over her, smiling sinisterly at her sleeping face, resisting the urge to smother her with a pillow. He hated her. She snubbed him at every turn, argued with his decisions, as though she were better than him…**him**! Prince Vaelor of Shornhelm, descendant of Andorak, true heir to the throne! She was an exquisitely beautiful woman, it was true. The tales had not done her justice. He had hoped to enjoy himself before the end. But the bitch had made it impossible. She turned away when he touched her….suffered his affections as though he were loathsome and repulsive. Bah! She pined for this Hero, this Champion. But **he** would never touch her again, Vaelor thought triumphantly…at least not while she lived. Vaelor was in control now. And he would relish the grief of this great Champion as he wept over his lost love…as he suffered the recriminations that he had left her to her fate and had never been able to speak to her or see her again.

The Breton glared at her, his fists clenching and unclenching over and over, as he tried to confine his anger. Not yet, not yet, he told himself, quivering with repressed rage. The Master would not be happy. His Lord wanted to extend her torment. And now that the Champion had come back, to prolong **his** agony as well. Everything was, in fact, going splendidly! Grayrider had been humiliated before the Court today, a maneuver he was sure had pleased Boethiah. The Champion's grand reputation was besmirched and his influence lessened considerably, Vaelor thought proudly.

No, he must show restraint, he soothingly reminded himself. Patience was required here. His family had waited generations to reclaim their just due and now it was almost upon them. Soon, he would rule alone. And if he had to eliminate every member of the Elder Council, they would not vote an Andorak out again.

"Here you are my Empress, drink up. Soon you will be all better," he promised.

Alessia awoke to the grating sound of his oily voice seeming so happy it made her sicker. She turned away woefully.

He pulled her chin back. "Now, now…drink it," he coaxed in a sing-song voice, trying to pour it past her lips.

"Not now…please…just leave me…be…It is not…working…" she said weakly.

"Of course it is…it is just slow in its action. These things take time. Now, drink it," he ordered, feeling his patience grow thin.

"Send me…Mother Worthing. Why…have I been…unable…to see anyone? Please…" she managed, every word an effort.

"I told you before. You may be contagious and I have risked my own health to look after you, keeping to the inner regions of the palace and caring for you myself, until we can be sure you will not cause a plague. You would not want to see your good Mother sick as you are, would you?" he asked, playing her perfectly.

"No…" she whispered defeatedly.

"That's a good girl, then…drink," he said, irritated at having to cajole her. He poured the liquid, but she turned her head away at the last minute, spilling the last of the poison onto the sheet.

Vaelor exploded then, tired of the subterfuge…tired of pretending to be the doting husband with her. "You bitch!" he seethed, his nostrils flaring with barely suppressed fury.

Alessia looked back at him in surprise, stunned at his sudden change in demeanor.

He glared at her, trying to decide. She was done anyway, he thought with contempt. She was not able to rise. She had no strength to call out. She was isolated. Alone. It was time he revealed himself. He would take great pleasure in her knowing that **he** had sealed her fate. "You stupid Cyrodiilian bitch! You will look down on me no more! In a few short days, you will **be** no more. The poison I created is perfect. They will suspect nothing. You will perish from a mysterious, wretched disease which will turn out to not be contagious after all. And I will be Emperor as I was meant to be!" he gloated, his eyes alight with power-mad lust.

Gods! she thought. All this time…he has been poisoning me?! It all makes sense now! Alessia tried to rise, to escape this monster, but she could barely lift her arms. Her strength was gone. She tried to shout and only a weak cry escaped her lips.

Vaelor laughed at her pathetic attempts. "You fool! You had no chance from the beginning! My Lord Boethiah ordained it," he revealed.

Alessia frowned in confusion. "You…worship…Boethiah?!" she asked in horror.

Vaelor smiled proudly. "I am his top lieutenant in this realm. He told me so himself," the Emperor boasted.

She glared at him. "Fool!" she smirked. "Boethiah…Lord of deceit…You believe…when he names you favorite," she struggled.

Vaelor's eyes flashed angrily. Again he fought the desire to snuff her life out now.

"Why? Why would Boethiah…target **me**?" she asked skeptically.

"**You** are not his objective, though yours will not be the first government to fall from Boethiah's machinations. **Your** death…this little coup…is merely an ingenious by-product of his greater plan. You are the means to the Master's ends…the weapon wielded by my Lord's hand. Blame your Champion…the one that **left** you," he taunted, relishing her pained wince. "My Master took umbrage at the abandonment of his Tournament by your Grayrider. But when your lover so cavalierly destroyed the great prize bestowed upon him, the weapon forged with care by the Prince himself, it was the last straw. Such an affront cannot be permitted to go unpunished. In retaliation, the great Prince seeks to destroy the favorite possession of the one who spurned him. That is **your** role in this…you are but a pawn in a great game my Lord Boethiah plays against your Champion. Grayrider will lose the game…and he will lose **you**. And I will claim my rightful title." He leaned in close to her face then, and smiled viciously. "You are finished, Empress…long live the Emperor!" he whispered. Then he turned to go. He would have to make another batch of his special medicine. And she would have no say in whether she partook of it. He meant to force it down her throat.

Alessia turned her head, feeling the tears flowing down her face. Oh Torin, thank the Gods you are not here to see this Daedric Prince's terrible sport played out, she thought.


	24. Chapter 24

24.

"Fugitive!"

Vaelor was in evening meetings with the Council for the next few hours. It was the perfect time to make their move. Torin had cloaked himself in a spell of invisibility and stealthily followed Jauffre to the doors outside her rooms. His apprehension had set him on edge. He didn't know what to expect when he saw her, but his distress knew no bounds. Jauffre pretended to hear an alarming sound inside the antechamber and opened the door calling out and holding up the lantern. It gave Torin the moment he needed to sneak in. Then Jauffre dismissed the sound as the frailties of an old man, and sealed the door again. Torin was inside. He traversed the multiple rooms of the suite to reach her bedroom. He opened the door, becoming visible, and advanced slowly, afraid of what he might find.

When he saw her laying there, his heart broke. She was pale. There were dark circles under her eyes as though she had not slept. Her beautiful raven hair was matted to her brow from feverish sweats. She was sleeping now, but fitfully. Her head tossed back and forth as she groaned. He sat on her bedside and took her hand tenderly, wrapping his fingers around it, gripping her tightly as though to send her his strength through his grasp. Then he pulled it up to his lips and kissed it gently, his lips lingering there. Her hand was cold, as though Death hovered nearby, His harsh frigid breath upon her. Torin swallowed hard. He leaned in to her face, and stroked her hair as he kissed her forehead, willing her to heal. "Alessia…" he whispered.

"Alessia, my love, I am here. Wake now, that I can see your beautiful green eyes once more," he urged softly.

She didn't respond. She seemed far away…closer to death than life now. His eyes welled. "Alessia…do not leave me. I beg you. Less…my beloved… …come back…come back…" he pleaded, scarcely able to speak.

Her eyes slowly forced their way open. The sound of his voice calling her back…speaking her name…her name. Torin…Torin…

"Torin…" Alessia managed, barely able to force the word from her lips, so weak was she now. Was she dreaming? Was she dead? Her love sat next to her, holding her hand, looking at her with such passion…impossibly. Vaelor would never allow such a thing. She must be dreaming, surely. She turned away in disappointment, tears spilling over.

Torin didn't understand. "Alessia…" he said, cradling her face in his hand, turning it back to face him. "Do you want me to leave? I…Vaelor said you would not want to see me. I could not believe it so…but…" he said tentatively.

Could it be? "Are…you really…here?" she asked, uncertain if she could believe her own eyes now…the poison…was she hallucinating?

"Alessia…I am here…I will never leave your side again, no matter what Vaelor says. He tried to keep me from you, Less. But nothing will ever keep me from you again if you do not wish it so," he promised ardently.

She closed her eyes, relief and joy washing over her. "You…came back…" she said, smiling through her tears. She struggled to touch his face, but her hand fell to her side, her arm collapsing under its own weight. "I am…dying," she breathed.

He sobbed then, unable to hold back the agony that lay within him at the thought of her death. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him, "No...there is something…there **must** be something we can do. I will not let you die. I will not give up on you. I will convince Vaelor somehow to take you out of the city to seek help…" he started frantically.

"No….Vaelor…poison," she managed to murmur in his ear.

Torin pulled back in shock. But as he looked in her eyes, he knew it was true. Everything made sense now. There was no disease, no contagion. Vaelor was systematically killing her, methodically pulling off a coup. He clenched his jaw in fury, his eyes blazing. The bastard!

"No Vaelor, no…Vaelor…" she struggled, slipping away again. "Poison…"

Torin laid her back down. His mind raced. That was it then. He had to get her out of here now…no matter the consequences. She was already on the edge and he was given to understand Vaelor was giving her doses of his "medicine" twice a day. Torin doubted she would make it through the week if he did not do something. He gathered a few things for her and tried to decide how he would escape with her. He could not very well climb and leap balconies as he had intended, and he dare not run the risk of revealing the plot yet. Alessia was too weak…out of her mind with fever. Her accusations now could be dismissed as the ramblings of delirium. And he had seen the Breton's powers of persuasion…Torin's own reputation had just taken a fearsome hit. He could not rely on the public believing his claims now, and the time it took to argue his case would spell the end for Alessia. No, he must find a way to help her first, then return and end this monster's life.

Torin kneeled down beside her and took her hand once more. "Alessia! Wake up, my love…Alessia!"

She opened her eyes again.

"Listen to me now. I am going to take you out of here. I know you must be in pain, but you must stay quiet, no matter what. If we are discovered, it is both our lives. Do you understand?" he asked her intently.

She nodded drowsily.

Torin smiled at her then to give her hope. "I will not let him take you, my love. I will move heaven and earth, if need be, but I will not let you die," he vowed encouragingly.

She smiled weakly at the reference. She knew he meant it…and if any man could, it was her Grayrider. "My Champion…" she murmured.

"Fight, my wildcat…" he returned. Then he kissed her lips gently.

* * *

Vaelor had taken a break from his meeting, begging concern for his wife. It was imperative that he continue to dose her at regular intervals lest she regain enough strength to leave her bed and save herself. So he had returned with a fresh batch of poison to continue her "treatments".

Jauffre was alarmed at his unexpectedly early return and tried to stall him, but the irritated Emperor dismissed him from his post, and sent him to bed, leaving Henrik and another Blade at the door. Vaelor entered her chamber quietly and gasped, dropping the tray with the poison vial when he saw Torin leaning over her bed, kissing her.

"**You**! You were told you couldn't see her! I'll have you beheaded for this outrage!" Vaelor sputtered furiously, panic-stricken that his secret might already be out.

Torin's head shot up at the object of his hatred. He drew his dagger and leaped on the Breton, knocking him to floor. "I should cut out your heart for what you've done to her!" he cried seething with fury. It was all he could do to restrain his blade from burying itself into the hated man's heart. Then he lowered his voice to a deadly quiet. But the menace was clear in it. "Know that you still live only because she is too weak to testify against you now and I will not be branded an Emperor's murderer and risk a war with High Rock. For now, you are still Emperor and it is your word against mine. For now, you are safe from my wrath and the cold steel of my blade. But when I have indisputable proof…and I **will** get it…you will not be protected, and there will be nowhere you can hide from me, foul swine. But you will not claim Alessia's life, you bastard! I'm taking her with me!" Torin exclaimed.

"No! You will never escape with her in that condition," Vaelor said smugly, feeling safe and superior once more, now that his life was admittedly no longer threatened. "I will see you flayed, then drawn and quartered as an offering. Guard! Guard! Help! I'm being attacked! The Empress is being kidnapped! Blades!" he shouted.

Torin's jaw clenched in anger and he swung his fist mightily into the face of the Emperor-by-marriage, knocking him unconscious. Fighting the urge to finish the job, he raced back to Alessia, pulling her up and lifting her into his arms. "Come, my love, we must go now, or you will not live to see another dawn," he whispered to her as his strong arms encircled her limp form. He headed for the balcony.

"Passage…tapestry…" she breathed weakly, every word a supreme effort. He felt her slump in his arms, as she blacked out again. Panic rose up in him. Torin probed and found a hidden switch that opened a stone panel behind the wall hanging. He had started through the passage when Henrik burst into room, responding to the Emperor's cry. Bardur had sent the other Blade for reinforcements. Henrik froze when he saw Torin holding the unconscious Empress in his arms and the prone Emperor on the floor. His eyes widened as his mind searched for a rational explanation.

"Torin…what?!" Henrik started.

"There is no time, Henrik," Torin said urgently. He nodded his head to Vaelor, "He has been poisoning Alessia."

Henrik gasped looking down at the Breton lying on the floor. "Is he…?" Henrik started.

"He is not dead, but **she** will be if I leave her. I take her now to try and save her," Torin said anxiously.

Henrik hesitated uncertainly, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.

Torin could see the struggle in the man, between his friendship and his long-held duty. "I love her, Henrik. I would not hurt her for the world. You **know** this. Give her a chance…please…I beg of you. Let me try to help her…to save her life. Do not make me fight you, my friend. I cannot let you take me now, or he will see her finished…and me as well," Torin assured him.

Henrik finally nodded his acceptance.

Torin breathed a sigh of relief. "Tell no one. Seal the door behind us. Pretend you have just arrived and know nothing. You must trust me, my friend. I will send word when she is safely away from here," Torin instructed. "You have saved the life of your Empress this day, Blade, and I am grateful beyond words," Torin said sincerely, nodding his thanks and bolting down the passageway.

Henrik closed it behind him. He thought for a moment, then ran to the balcony, unlocked and threw open the doors to make it appear Torin's escape route. Then he walked over to Vaelor, bending over. "Your Highness? My Emperor?" he asked, gauging the man's state of consciousness.

There was no response.

"You dare poison my Empress!?" he spat at the senseless Breton. He heard the thundering sound of men in armor approaching. His eyes narrowed. He drew his leg back and kicked Vaelor in the ribs. "Bastard!" he muttered.

By the time Jauffre and the other Blades and Imperial Guards arrived on the scene, Henrik was on bended knee, shouting solicitously, "Your Highness! Wake up!"

Just as Torin had asked, he pretended to have happened on the Emperor lying on the ground with the Empress gone. Vaelor regained consciousness, grabbing at his ribs, moaning. Henrik suppressed a smile. "He took the Empress! Kidnapped her! I tried to stop him and he beat me savagely. I think he broke my ribs when he kicked me," Vaelor said.

Henrik frowned. Liar! he thought. **I** kicked you after Torin left. If there had been any doubt, there was no longer. Torin was telling the truth. This man was despicable.

Vaelor continued, "This is your great Champion! Attacks his Emperor and steals his dying Empress! **Now** do you believe me?! I want him found! Scour the city for him! And when you find him, bring him to me. I will deal with the traitor directly. These are your Emperor's orders!"

Jauffre noted he made no mention of rescuing or saving the Empress. The old Blade did not like this Breton he now reluctantly called Emperor.

* * *

Henrik stood in Jauffre's room. The old Grandmaster had invited his Blade Captain up for a drink. Torin had made good his escape. Vaelor was livid, stomping around, sputtering and cursing. He threatened them all with death if the Champion was not found. But the two men that now occupied this room felt neither fear nor guilt over the whole affair, for they had each played a role in the success of the venture. And both thought themselves alone in it.

The two Blades eyed each other for a few moments, each with their own secret. Both were honorable men, yet had assisted Torin. Both were at risk of being executed for treason. Both trusted the other implicitly and neither wanted to involve the other man in his intrigue.

Henrik spoke first. "So…I've been thinking about it for three days. How do you think Torin got in? There was no sign of forced entry from the balcony," he said ponderously. It had occurred to him only later that **he** had unlocked the doors **himself**. Torin couldn't have gotten in that way, unless he was let in…and the Empress was clearly in no condition to do so.

Jauffre's eyebrows rose. "Hmmm…" he replied. "Strange. **I've** been wondering how he got **out** with a woman in her condition. I find it hard to believe he was climbing balconies with her in his arms," he said.

The two men looked at each other a moment longer and a slow smile broke out on both their faces. They grasped each other's arms in a show of friendship and mutual loyalty.

"For two men loyal to the Empire, we find ourselves in a precarious position, do we not?" Jauffre asked. He explained how he had helpedTorin sneak in to the Empress' chambers.

"Jauffre, thank the Gods! I have been desperate to talk to you! Torin told me Vaelor has been poisoning the Empress! She is not dying of some strange disease! She is being **murdered**!" the Blade Captain exclaimed.

"By the Gods! I knew that man was unsavory, but I could not have guessed…" Jauffre said, reeling in shock.

"Torin took her to try to save her. He asked me to trust him and I did, helping him to escape down a hidden passage. But I **know** he was telling the truth, because I have already caught Vaelor in a lie," Henrik told him.

Jauffre cocked his head questioningly.

"I…I am the one who kicked him in the ribs, after Torin left…when the Emperor was unconscious," Henrik admitted, flushing.

Jauffre started. Then he burst out laughing. "Good for you, man! The bastard deserved it! And **more**! I wish it had been me!" he exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

Henrik breathed a sigh of relief his Grandmaster understood, and would have acted the same. "But what do we do now? The Empress must be near death. There is no proof the Emperor is involved. And Torin is out there…a fugitive," he said.

Jauffre sobered quickly and shook his head, exhaling with concern. "We must trust our friend to know what he is doing," he said.

* * *

Torin had wrapped his Empress in her cloak and ridden frantically away from Imperial City, west across the bridge through Weye, and into the dense Great Forest, hoping it would hide them until he could think of what to do. He did not know where to go that the forces of the Empire could not find him, so he stopped, trying every potion, every healing spell he had to cure her…to no avail. But it had helped. She seemed bolstered, if only temporarily. Her body had calmed and she slept quietly now.

Then he got an idea…Gottlesfont Priory, the small ruined chapel and wayside nestled deep in the wood. Two Sisters of the Nine, both great healers, resided there. He had passed through more than once and they knew him. Surely they would help his Empress if they could.

Sister Phebe Jeanard was a Breton healer living at Gottlesfont, and an avid gardener, as was Sister Agronde. She was pulling weeds from her beloved Lady's Mantle when Torin came thundering up, his arm around an unconscious cloaked woman in the saddle in front of him. She stood and raised her hand to shield her eyes from the light and determine the cause for the commotion. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, when she saw them. "Ser Grayrider! What?..." she asked.

"Please! Sister Phebe! You must help me! She is dying! Please…if you can save her…" Torin pleaded, lifting Alessia down and carrying her into the farmhouse. He glanced around. Mercifully, there were no travellers there at that moment. He wanted to protect the Sisters from any fallout related to his being there. And when they realized who his companion was…

Sister Phebe gasped when Torin laid down the woman and removed her cloak. "The Empress!" she exclaimed, recoiling. The Sister had caught a glimpse of her ruler a few months ago on a trip to the market in Imperial City, yet she knew nothing about the events there now. She had heard only that the Empress was reported to be very ill.

Torin took her by the shoulders to calm her. "Sister…listen to me. Alessia…the Empress…has been poisoned by Emperor Vaelor! No one else realizes it, for he has kept her under lock and key. But she told me herself. The doctors…the mages…they could not help her! And it has been weeks since they were allowed to try! Please! You must cure her!" he begged.

Sister Phebe collected herself and seeing his desperation, believed him. Rumors had circulated long ago that the woman who had helped him stop the annihilation of Tamriel when Oblivion threatened them all, the woman who had become Empress, had been his lover. She could see his fear in his eyes. Phebe did not understand how they came to be here at this moment, but she would do what she could to save her Empress now. "Go and fetch Sister Angrond. We will do what we can," she promised, squeezing Torin's shoulder.

* * *

He sat in the chapel for several hours while they worked on her, praying to the Gods to spare her. At last, Sister Phebe entered, looking exhausted and haggard. She looked at him sadly. "I …we tried everything we knew. We cannot mend her. Whatever poison that evil man used, I have no cure for it. I am truly sorry, young man. For you…for the Empire," she said, bowing her head.

Torin buried his face in his hands.

"May the Gods curse him forever!" Phebe said bitterly.

Torin looked at the kindly Sister in surprise. He had not expected…

"I am a Breton, Ser Grayrider. We lived under his oily thumb for many years before we came to Cyrodiil. He hides his reputation well, but he is not a loved man in Shornhelm, nor in all of High Rock province. He is feared. There is a darkness in him…and rumors. We fled to escape his cruel reign, and when he was declared Prince-Consort, we were horrified," she said.

Torin was angry. Damn the Council! They **must** have known what kind of man he was! And still they bade her marry him, knowing what kind of life he would give her. Damn their greed!

"I am sorry, but I do not think she has more than two days left," Sister Phebe said.

He nodded his thanks numbly, thinking that his heart, too, only had two days left.


	25. Chapter 25

25.

"The Quality of Mercy Is Not Strained"

Two days. No time to take her anywhere…no time to try anything else. Still, he stubbornly refused to give up. He had wandered aimlessly with her on horseback, clutching her to him, stopping only when he couldn't see in front of him anymore, then making camp. Now, he sat staring at the fire, wracking his brain for ideas…where could he take her in this condition with time running out? She was so far gone. And it was **his** fault, he thought, running his hands through his hair in anguish. He had left her with a monster. He could have objected…he had the influence then. He should have looked into the man's past himself. He could have persuaded the Council to pick a more suitable husband…a man who would take care of her, who would love her as he did. Torin could not keep the tears from rising. He could not lose her. But what could he do? Where could he go that she would survive long enough to find an answer?

Alessia moaned, wresting him from his self-indictment. "Torin…" she called.

He was at her side in an instant, taking her hand, gazing into her eyes, stroking her hair tenderly. "I am here, my love, I am here," he whispered smiling at her, his eyes shining.

She returned his smile, but hers was considerably weaker. She saw the stars above her and the warmth of the fire next to her. It was as it used to be when they had travelled together, and she took great comfort in that. "I…knew you could…free me…" she struggled.

Her eyes gazed at him with such love and pride. And he was ashamed…wracked with guilt for her dilemma. He shook his head. "I shouldn't have left you. I could have stopped him…I could have prevented this. If I had been here, I would have seen…I…" he lamented.

"No…none of this…your fault. We…thought…I was sick, until…he admitted truth…had to gloat," Alessia managed. She ran her tongue across her dry lips. Torin sprang to his canteen and gently lifted her head, putting the container to her lips. She hesitated instinctively, her mind racing back involuntarily to Vaelor's attempts to force the poison down her throat. Her eyes locked with Torin's. The brilliant blue eyes she loved so well were so full of love…compassion…fear. She smiled slightly and parted her lips to accept the water he offered her. She nodded when she had taken her fill. "Please…do not…blame yourself…" she said, her voice growing weaker.

Torin cast healing spells on her to strengthen her.

"I know you had to leave…just as…I did what I had to do. It was…not what I wanted…" she said earnestly. "I have always loved you, my Grayrider," she whispered. She felt herself leaving him then, and struggled to stay, but the poison had taken a great toll on her body. "Fare well, my heart…" she said and pressed his lips.

Torin felt the strength of her kiss fade with her and she slipped away into a coma. He started as she fell away from him, her limp form still in his arms. No. Nooo. Noooo! He reached for her pulse. It was weak and thready, but she yet lived. He clutched her to him, his grief overwhelming him.

An hour later, dawn broke. He still held Alessia in his arms numbly staring off into the distance, remembering her. He had not slept. Slowly, with the sun's light clarifying his vision, his eyes focused on a white dome and pillars just over the rise. It was small, not an Ayleid ruin or fort. It had to be a wayshrine of the Gods. He tried to think where he was. He estimated he was not too far south of Weynon Priory. Dibella! The Goddess of Beauty and Love! By the Nine! It was a sign! There was none more beautiful than his Alessia, and his love for her was without equal. The Gods had led him to Dibella's wayshrine surely!

Desperate and distraught, Torin lifted Alessia's sagging form into his arms and ran to the sacred structure, laying his beloved down beside the Altar. Then he fell to his knees and spread his arms in supplication. "Great Dibella! Goddess of rarified Beauty! Goddess of never-ending, perfect Love! Hear me, I beseech you! Spare my Empress...most exquisite of mortals, most beloved of women! Show her mercy. She is good and kind, courageous and honorable, a great and benevolent leader respectful to the Gods. And…I love her beyond reason. I have done all that I can to bring her back, but vicious corruption and betrayal have won out. Only divine intervention is left to me. I have no great offering to submit to you that is worthy of the gift I seek. There is but one thing I have to give that might be considered of equal value, though I would not begin to call it so. I can only pray you will find it acceptable. I offer you **my** life in exchange for hers. Bring back my love. Take my breath and fill her lungs with it that she may live a long and fruitful life. And I will die happy that I could return to the world that which I love most in it," he begged.

A blinding light appeared over the Altar. Torin shielded his eyes. Slowly, the light faded and where the light had been, the Goddess Dibella hovered now. "Your tongue is eloquent for a warrior, mortal. I have heard your pleas and I am moved," she said in a soft, sensuous ethereal voice.

"It is my love for her which gives my prose form…that gives voice to the right words. It is she that inspires my heart," Torin answered humbly, bowing his head.

"It is so. I have seen it," Dibella acknowledged, "Your love for each other is pure and strong and burns with the heat of a thousand dragonfires. But I cannot accept your offer to sacrifice yourself for her. You are what is right with a world gone mad. You are what Tamriel needs, a just and righteous Champion…"

Torin's eyes filled with tears. "But I am nothing without her. I…do not wish to live in a world she does not share…" he lamented.

"Such selfless, noble love is rare and wondrous indeed, and a gift for my eyes to behold. It is true I have guided you here as you have guessed, Champion. For this mortal Empress has always honored us and her heart is untainted. She has sacrificed the thing she loved to uphold the covenant with Akatosh. It is decided she will not leave the mortal plane as yet. This cruel, treacherous death we will not accept. We give her back her life, but not at the expense of yours. We will restore her body. It is for you to restore her soul," the goddess proclaimed, turning her attention to the prostrate Empress.

"Come back, child, return to the land of the living. Awaken in the arms of the man who treasures you above all else," Dibella commanded gently.

Alessia stirred in his arms. Her haggard, gaunt face softened and filled out. The rings under her eyes faded. Her respiration evened. She gasped suddenly as though new life had been breathed into her, her eyes fluttering open to see Torin's worried face hovering over hers solicitously.

Torin smiled emotionally, his eyes shining as he gazed into hers. He laughed…a sobbing release of fear and anxiety, of overwhelming relief.

She smiled back, not fully understanding the meaning of it.

Torin pulled Alessia gently to her feet, then looked at Dibella, bowing his head in gratitude, "I am forever grateful. The Nine Divines will always be honored in the house of Grayrider and the Empire of Cyrodiil, and the name Dibella will always hold a special place in our hearts" he whispered.

Alessia turned to face the voice that had pulled her from her dreamless sleep, the one Torin addressed now. She was astonished to find a goddess before her…Dibella! She looked back at Torin questioningly, as though to confirm she had just witnessed a deity and not a delusional dream or poisonous hallucination.

Torin nodded in understanding of her confusion.

Dibella continued, "This Champion has purchased your life with his faithfulness and loyalty. Rise, young Empress, and go together to meet your destiny. It will take you both to reclaim the throne of Tamriel. Indeed, much will be demanded of you in the times to come. Always have the Daedra been rivals with the Aedra, yet we had thought after Akatosh exiled Dagon back to his Deadlands, they would settle for a time, at least. But Dagon's folly has stirred discontent and the Daedra grow bold of late. Know that Boethiah is not the only restless denizen of Oblivion. Trouble brews, and we fear their mischief is not done. You are formidable, each unto yourselves, but never forget that your greatest strength is the bond between you. Hearken back to my words when you have doubts. For this is the truth of your love…you are destined for greatness together. In the difficult times ahead…in the times of uncertainty…be grateful for one another, and never allow the world and its troubles to come between you," the goddess advised cryptically.

Alessia nodded to Dibella resolutely.

Torin looked at Alessia in bewilderment.

She smiled at him. "I will explain later," she told him. She had chosen not to burden her love with the guilt of knowing her attempted murder was the result of Boethiah's vendetta against him. She had not wanted to lay that at his feet for the rest of his life, though she had wondered if it would not be part of the Daedric Prince's vengeance to see him suffer with the knowledge. Alessia suspected that after her death, Vaelor would have made sure Torin knew the cause of it. She shuddered to think of his pain from such a revelation. Now it would become a part of the past they put behind them once they took care of the treacherous snake that was her husband.

Dibella turned her attention to Torin, "And you, Grayrider…Hero and Champion of Cyrodiil…the eyes of the Nine have taken notice. We have witnessed your deeds, great and small. The Gods have also perceived your regret…your sorrow, and we will not see you suffer any longer for past mistakes. Your penance is at an end. Lay down the Razor."

"What? I…cannot. If…if someone finds it…they will be corrupted…" he protested, glancing at Alessia.

"Its darkness has weighed heavily on you these many years. The part you played in releasing it has troubled you greatly. This we have seen. But since that time, you have been the guardian of its evil, containing it, protecting the world from it. You have saved this mortal realm from Dagon's cruel plan. It is time to lay down your burden. It is time to be forgiven. Release your guilt. Leave Mehrune's Razor with us. We will destroy it as we should have done long ago," Dibella said.

Torin pulled out the dagger, his folly of so many years ago and looked at it with hatred…with sorrow. He felt Alessia slip her hand into his and he looked at her emotionally. He saw her eyes filled with tears of compassion.

She had grieved for him, for the one great wrong he had done that he could not pardon himself for, that tore at the fabric of his soul. Alessia nodded encouragingly toward the altar. "You have paid long enough, my love. It is time to let go. It is time to forgive **yourself**," she said gently.

Torin turned toward the altar and laid the Razor on it and stepped away, pulling Alessia with him. The dagger glowed bright red for a moment and then disintegrated, the dust blowing away in the gentle breeze.

Alessia squeezed his hand.

Dibella spoke once more, "Rejoice in the gift that has been bestowed on you. Cleave to each other. Respect each other. Love one another. In this last request, you will honor **me, **for it is the passion you hold for each other that sings most loudly to my soul. As we have heard your song, we have shown you mercy. Do not let that which we have given be torn asunder. Fare thee well, mortals. The blessings of the Nine are upon you." With that, Dibella slowly faded from sight.

They both stared for a moment after she had gone, still too awed to speak. Then they gazed at each other and the full impact of what had just happened struck them. They grinned at each other in astonishment and fell into each other's arms.

* * *

They knew Vaelor would be searching for them. He could not afford to let Torin go free with what he knew. Vaelor could not know, of course, that the Empress had recovered…that her life had been given back to her because of Torin's tireless efforts and endless devotion. Alessia smiled and hugged him to her as she rode behind him.

At first, he had taken her back to Gottlesfont Priory. Alessia had wanted to offer her thanks to the Sisters and assure them that Torin had spoken the truth. They were overjoyed to see their Empress alive and promised to help her regain the throne and put an end to Vaelor's wicked plan however they could. Torin offered his gratitude, telling them he would gladly accept their assistance. For now, he had to get Alessia into hiding, to give her time to recover her strength fully and plan their next move. And so they headed north.

They reached Frostcrag Spire at last, safe in the knowledge that no one knew of the existence of the Wizard's Tower, much less its whereabouts, save Aurelinwae, and Alessia was certain the tight-lipped dark elf would say nothing. Torin would have preferred to take her to Battlehorn where it was more comfortable and well-appointed, but circumstances dictated their refuge be hidden from prying eyes until they were prepared to act. Vaelor must not find them before they were ready.

Alessia was improving every day, her body getting stronger, her anger growing at her husband…the poisoner…the vile worshipper of Daedric evil, Boethiah. Torin had asked her repeatedly about Dibella's cryptic Boethiah remarks and she had put him off. She had tried to find the words to explain Vaelor's plot and where it had originated, but every time she started to tell him, she stopped. He would be devastated…he would blame himself. And Alessia could not bear that. But he had to be told, for Vaelor would surely reveal it when they confronted him. "Torin…" she started, running her finger softly…familiarly…along the scar on his jaw. Alessia smiled. "I've missed this…" she said.

Torin returned her smile, his eyes burning into hers. "It has missed you, too," he replied teasingly.

Gods, she didn't want to tell him this. Alessia took a deep breath and plunged into it. "There was another behind Vaelor's plotting…" she said.

Torin started. Another?! Who would…who **could** manipulate things so…and who would want to?!

"Torin…it was Boethiah…" she started gingerly.

Boethiah had set this Breton on Alessia?! With intent to murder her?! But…why?!

"He was angry…bitter that you had abandoned his Tournament, that you destroyed his precious weapon. He…sought vengeance through your feelings for me…" she continued haltingly, a pained expression on her face.

He recoiled, shaking his head. "**I** did this to you?! By the Nine!"

"No! Torin, **Boethiah** did this…**Vaelor** did this! You did what you had to to stop Dagon…you entered the Tournament and gave Martin the artifact you won. That is all. You chose the least heinous of the tasks asked of you by the Daedric Princes. Don't you see? Every step of the way you have shown heroism, honor, and courage. It is Boethiah's petty ego and Vaelor's cruel ambition that are to blame. **They** chose this course of action. It is not your fault!" she insisted, taking his hands in hers.

He struggled with her words, trying to grasp the enormity of the conspiracy.

Alessia lifted his chin to look in her eyes. "If it were **me**, Torin? Would you lay blame at my feet for their scheme?"

His brow furrowed. She had reached him then. He nodded his acceptance of her logic. Then he pulled her to him and whispered, "I am sorry you were dragged into Boethiah's twisted plot for revenge. But we will make his agent pay the greatest price for his monstrous part in it, I swear it," Torin vowed. And Boethiah will know my anger, he thought to himself.


	26. Chapter 26

26.

"Justice Is Served"

Within a week, Torin was hard-pressed to keep Alessia at Frostcrag, so anxious was she to bring Vaelor to justice, to end his attempted overthrow of her government. One night she approached him and taking a deep breath, announced, "Tomorrow, I must go back and face Vaelor. I must end this travesty and call him out for the monster he is. He must be publicly disgraced, his treachery exposed so that all will know what has happened here. We must avoid war with High Rock. The truth must be revealed and it must be in the open. You will come with me?"

"Of course, my love. It is time to end this. You are the rightful Empress of Cyrodiil. He is a wicked usurper, a puppet of Boethiah. I only waited until you were well enough," he answered, his voice hardening with steely resolve. "Besides, I made a promise to our pretender I would return and punish him for hurting you, and I mean to make good on that promise," he added, feeling his anger rise once more.

Alessia smiled proudly. "My Grayrider, I knew you would not let me down. Tomorrow, at first light, we will head south to reclaim the Empire. For I am well enough to see his cruel reign ended…"

* * *

They made their way back to Gottlesfont, enlisting the Sisters to get word to Henrik to meet them at the Wawnet Inn in Weye, just outside Imperial City. They travelled to the small settlement together, as Sisters and a Brother of the Nine, cloaked to protect their identities. Alessia and Torin understood the risk they were taking, holing up so close to the powerful man that wanted them dead. But they gambled it was the last place he would look…in his own backyard. Alessia assured Torin the man she married was a sniveling coward. Vaelor would never imagine her Grayrider would have the courage to return to face him so boldly. And, he would also assume **she** was already dead. No, this was a calculated risk the Empress felt was worth taking for the few days it would take to set up their plan.

* * *

Sister Phebe had arranged it. Henrik met them in the wood near the inn the next night…and he was not alone. Jauffre accompanied him. Torin ran out to greet them and the three men exchanged embraces. Then he led them into a clearing. "It's alright, Alessia," Torin called softly, "You can come out." The two men fell to their knees at the feet of the cloaked and hooded woman that emerged from behind a great tree, overjoyed the Empress had survived.

Alessia lowered her hood. "Rise, my friends. Your courage in aiding my Grayrider…in coming here…is appreciated beyond measure. But stand beside me now. We have much to discuss," she said regally.

* * *

There was a public proclamation in two days. A massive crowd was expected to gather outside the ruins of the Temple of the One. The mood in the Imperial City was somber…tense. The people craved answers. Their beloved Empress was gone, feared dead. And their equally cherished Champion and savior was being blamed for it. He was a fugitive, and all were being warned not to help or harbor him, and to report any sightings of the man they had hailed as their hero but two short weeks ago. Vaelor intended to vilify Torin's reputation further and clarify his heinous act of kidnapping to the throngs that waited anxiously below, Jauffre warned them. It was the perfect opportunity to confront the Emperor in the open, where his treachery could be revealed…but it would be difficult to get Torin in close enough to challenge Vaelor's authority without his being discovered. And if that happened, pandemonium would ensue, and he would be unable to call out the Breton. It could very well get him killed. But Torin was adamant **he** must initiate the action. He would not risk Alessia being whisked away by the Emperor before she could speak. She could not be noticed before he had spoken. They had one chance at this, and it had to go off according to plan.

They spirited Alessia into the city to await the accusation that would come from Torin. They needed Vaelor to wrap himself in his own lies before they sprung their trap, so that her people would know the truth of his foul nature. She would reveal herself then, and provide testimony against Vaelor. Jauffre and Henrik would need to be at the Emperor's side, and Alessia would travel with the Sisters for cover. Torin must make his way through the crowds alone, undetected, until he was close enough to the Emperor to make his move. Jauffre and Henrik would keep the other Blades and guards at bay as best they could.

* * *

It was time…two hours before the speech. Torin separated from her then, unwilling to let her be taken down with him should he be captured prematurely. He looked into her eyes, his own speaking volumes. "Soon, Alessia. This will all be over and you will be free," he promised.

"Be safe, my Champion," she returned and kissed him tenderly.

He flipped his hood back over his face, and Torin stepped out into the street and melted into the crowd. Alessia and the Sisters followed suit, heading in the opposite direction.

"My friends!" Vaelor shouted from the top of the steps. "I know you have questions! I, your humble Emperor, thinking only of you, have come to you in my time of grief, to ease your minds…to tell you I will leave no stone unturned until I have found the wicked culprit in the kidnapping of your beloved Empress and the savage attack on your servant, the Emperor! I will not rest until he is found and punished for his crime…" he promised.

Torin glared at him as he moved ever closer to his hated target.

"I know there are those of you who still do not believe. How, you say, can this Champion of Cyrodiil…this hero who saved us all be capable of such a thing? First, let me remind you that it was Martin Septim, Gods rest his soul, and your precious Empress who **actually** saved you," he said, pointing at the giant stone dragon frozen in mid-wingspread behind him. "This…this is your true hero…not this fortune hunter who took more of the credit than he deserved. You may ask why? Why would Grayrider take the Empress? I will tell you. Because he was a jealous, bitter man. You have heard the rumors, I know. And it is true that once he had a relationship with your Empress. But she had broken it off many months ago. She had married me. And this Grayrider could not accept it. Thinking only of my beloved wife, I forbade him to disturb her peace in her last hours. But he defied his Emperor and broke into her chambers, attacking me, and stealing her away in complete disregard of her fragile state. She was gravely ill…too ill to fight him off…too weak to even call for help. I was doing my best to care for her, but I fear she is…dead now, thanks to his despicably selfish deed," Vaelor said sadly, lowering his head in mock mourning.

A great gasp went up from the throng and murmuring and shouting followed.

Alessia cursed him silently. The bastard! He spun lies like honey from his lips. It was all she could do to maintain her composure and hold her tongue. But Torin had made her swear to abide by his plan. They had to gain the crowd or all was lost. She could not reveal herself too soon.

Vaelor continued, "It is a sad truth, my friends. That is why I need your help to hunt him down. Every man, woman, and child must become my eyes and ears. Fear not, he will not get away…"

Torin could stomach no more. He leaped up onto the wall of the Temple where he could be seen by all. "NOOO!" he roared, throwing off his cloak.

"The Champion!"

"Grayrider!"

"Traitor!"

"Where is she?! What have you done with the Empress?!"

Torin heard the cries, some for his blood. "Hear me, People of Tamriel! The Emperor lies! I am not the monster he claims…" he began.

Vaelor recovered from the shock and shouted, "Archers! Take him down!"

Most of the men present had fought for or with Torin, and either through reluctance or sheer stunned disbelief did not act. Then there was a thwip, and an arrow pierced the Champion's unprotected shoulder. He had not worn armor for fear of being discovered. It would not do for a Brother of the Nine to be found in such dress. The only sign he was more than a simple monk was the dagger that was hidden in his robes. Torin grimaced and clutched his shoulder.

Alessia gasped and started towards him, but Sister Phebe grabbed her arm protectively. "Not yet…not yet, child. Give him a moment," she urged.

"Stand down!" Jauffre barked.

"How dare you?!" the Emperor shouted at him.

Jauffre scowled at him. "Blades! Stand down! Imperial Guard, stand down! We will hear what he has to say!" the old Grandmaster shouted, knowing if Torin was not successful he had just committed an unpardonable act of treason and would pay with his life.

Torin teetered unsteadily on the wall, then pulled the arrow from his shoulder and healed himself enough to continue.

"Hear him out!"

"Yes, hear what the Champion has to say!"

"We owe him that! Listen to him!"

Vaelor did not dare attack him now. It would make him appear guilty. He must use his political savvy, his powers of manipulation to bury the man. He had done it before, and he would do it again. Grayrider was a simple soldier…an adventurer, not an orator. "Of course," he said lightly. "You will all see what a desperate man he truly is," he answered, appearing unconcerned.

"I am not a kidnapper! I only came to see her…when I heard she was ill…" Torin started.

"But you were denied permission by your Emperor, her husband, who only wanted her final days to be peaceful. So you went against his express order and broke into her room, did you not?" Vaelor asked.

Torin did not dare implicate Jauffre or Henrik. "I…yes. But I…"

"Did you attack me without provocation when I came in and found you mauling her in her sick bed? When I caught you kissing my defenseless wife? Is it not so?" he pressed.

"Yes…but I…" Torin stammered.

The crowd was becoming outraged at Vaelor's warped version of the truth. He smiled on the verge of victory.

"NOOOO! Listen to me! I am no politician! I am not eloquent of tongue. I am not skilled in the art of twisting truth! Vaelor has filled your heads with lies! I kissed her, yes…because I love her. But I **took** her to **save** her! From the husband who was poisoning her!" Torin shouted.

There was a great roar of anguish…of confusion…of disbelief.

"Pathetic lies from a desperate man!" Vaelor shouted in return.

"No! I struck you because of what you had done to her. You are no better than an assassin! I should have killed you then!" Torin shouted, letting his temper get the better of him.

"He threatened me with death! Guards! Kill him! You all heard him! Kill him! Protect me!" Vaelor screamed in a vain attempt to end it. He felt the pendulum swinging away from him. "He killed the Empress and now he wants to kill me!" he screamed.

No one moved.

"Did you hear what I said? Your Empress is dead because of **him**!" Vaelor shouted maniacally.

Alessia could restrain herself no longer and leaped onto a broken pillar behind the crowd. "**NO**! I am **alive** because of him!" she cried.

Heads turned at the sound of her voice and she slowly lowered her hood to reveal her face. There was a collective gasp from the multitude.

Vaelor's face went white as a sheet.

Alessia smiled at his reaction. "You thought me lifeless, Vaelor…that your poison had done me in? I **would** be dead if not for your Champion, fickle people of Tamriel! He pulled me away from this monster you call Emperor as I lay near death. Every word Torin Grayrider has spoken is the truth! He came back here to face you all, to tell you what happened. He risks everything! These are not the actions of a guilty man!" Alessia shouted. Then she shook her head sadly. "All he has done for you, and you turn away from him on the word of a contemptible, loathsome man you know nothing about!" she chastised them as she walked towards **her** Champion. The crowd melted away in awe and reverence as she approached, ashamed for their faithlessness.

Vaelor sputtered and stammered.

"It's over, you bastard!" Torin shouted, jumping down from his perch on the wall. He glanced at Alessia and signaled her to stay back as he advanced on the Breton, fury in his eyes.

Vaelor backed away, looking around frantically. But all that met his eyes were angry, shocked stares. All that passed his ears were hurled epithets and curses. He would receive no assistance. And like a caged animal he turned on his attacker. He was Breton, after all, and commanded a huge store of magicka. His eyes narrowed on the approaching hero. And then he got a better idea. "You think you have me?! Perhaps! But before I die, I will finish what I started!" he threatened, his eyes turning towards Alessia. Torin recognized his intent, and as the Emperor's arm shot out unleashing a bolt of lightning towards the Empress, Torin grabbed a shield from the stunned guard next to him and launched himself in front of her, raising the buckler to take the brunt of the blow. He was largely uninjured, yet still, it knocked him backward several feet. Torin looked up, shaken and dazed. Alessia was unharmed, but the Breton was preparing to attack again. Jauffre and Henrik had thrown off their stunned stupor and were running towards Vaelor. But Torin was closer. They could not reach the monster before Vaelor could level another assault at Alessia. He mustered all his strength and focus and through sheer will, catapulted himself at Vaelor, dagger drawn. The Breton's hand crackled with electricity, discharging a great bolt of energy into Torin's chest, just as he sunk the dagger into Vaelor's gut. The Champion of Cyrodiil arched his back in agony as electricity coursed through his frame and he was thrown backwards violently, his body crashing into a wall. He felt the erratic beat of his heart…slowing…seizing… Then, he collapsed.

Vaelor staggered unsteadily, gripping his abdomen as the blood gushed freely from the wound, his face twisted in a mad grimace. But as Torin crumpled to the ground, a terrible grin spread over his lips. Vaelor raised his bloody hand and arcs of lightning danced upon his palm as he turned towards the hero.

Alessia screamed, "Torin!" and grabbed a bow off of the back of the soldier next to her. Before anyone could react she had unleashed two arrows into Vaelor's black heart just as he was preparing to strike a prone Torin again.

Vaelor shrieked. Henrik and Jauffre descended on him then, to finish what their Empress and Champion had started. But the dark Prince of Shornhelm was already dead…staring lifelessly at them on the spot where he had fallen, his service to Lord Boethiah at an end.

Alessia fell to her knees at Torin's side, cradling his head in her arms. "Nooooo!" she wailed.

Suddenly, an Argonian priest was at her side, pressing his hands onto Torin's chest. "My Empress! I **know** what great heroes you **both** are. You risked your lives to save **me**, a stranger. Now, let me return the favor," Jeelius said. His hands glowed as the healing power emanated from them.

She recognized the priest. They had rescued him from Ruma Camoran's attempted sacrifice at the Mythic Dawn Shrine. She smiled her gratitude weakly.

Sister Phebe and Sister Angrond pushed through the crowd and joined them, casting healing spells, offering potions. A moment later, another Sister of the Nine had fought her way through. It was Mother Worthing. She smiled at Alessia, tears in her eyes. Alessia embraced her emotionally, tears running down her cheeks.

"I was so worried. Thank the Gods you're alright, child. **He** will be, too, I promise you. You have been through too much for the Gods to take him from you now," Mother Worthing whispered supportively as she released the young Empress and rolled up her sleeves. "Now, let me get to work with these fine healers. This is a tad more complicated than young Vander's injury, but not to worry," the old Sister clucked encouragingly, a twinkle in her eye. Alessia tried to smile as the Mother knelt beside the others and ministered to him.

What seemed an eternity for the Empress was but a long two minutes. Torin gasped suddenly, and sat upright, bewildered. The healers all stepped away from him, grinning and clapping each other on the back, making way for an anxious but ecstatic Alessia. She gathered him in her arms. "Torin…" she murmured.

"He lives!" came a shout from the crowd. "The Champion lives!"

A roar went up from the masses.

Alessia smiled at him. Then she stood and pulled him to the stairs, saying "It is time to claim our destiny."

He looked at her, puzzled.

The cheering continued until she raised her hands to quiet them. "Peoples of the Empire, **this** is your Champion!" she declared, indicating Torin. "**This** is the man who, with my brother's aid, saved you from Dagon, who saved all the cities of Cyrodiil from his minions. **This** is the hero who rescued you from a lifetime of cruel oppression at the hands of a wicked usurper, who rescued his Empress from a cruel death by poison. **This** is the man I love beyond hope…beyond reason. And he has proven time and again how much he loves me. I am your Empress by blood. I rule only because I am a Septim. But my mother was not of noble blood. She was but a woman who cared for her Emperor. I am still new to this role, and I have listened to the great counselors and advisors on many topics. For your sakes, I have followed the path of conventional wisdom…of ancient practice. But I will no longer. It is time I did what I thought was right instead of what custom dictated. Your hero, the Champion of Cyrodiil, is not a Prince. But he is a prince among men. You decide I am worthy to rule because of an accident of birth. But he has earned the right to stand at my side by his deeds…by his great courage…by his noble heart. He asked me to be his wife long ago, before this great responsibility was thrust upon me, and I delayed him. I cannot tell you how much I have regretted my decision," she said, gazing at him soulfully. "But I love him with all that I am, and I hope that he will give me another chance to make it right. Marry me, Torin Grayrider. Rule at my side. And we will usher Tamriel into a new Age together," she said, her eyes glistening with feeling.

Torin was stunned. Was it possible? Could he marry an Empress? He stepped to her. "Alessia…"

The mob roared its approval, cheering wildly.

A few of the Elder Council members, stepped up, feeling their power threatened. "But Your Highness, you must marry a noble again…what of children?" they said.

Alessia gazed at Torin and smiled. "Our children will be as noble as their father. They will grow strong and healthy and brave. And they will rule Tamriel justly and with compassion. That is all one could wish for in the royal line, is it not?" she asked rhetorically, making it clear she would not brook dissension.

They looked at each other and bowed, stepping backward. "As you wish, your Imperial Highness," Ocato said.

The Empress turned to him then. "You have been of great assistance to me, Chancellor, and of great service to your Empire. For that I am grateful. But henceforth, the Council will only advise me in matters of a political and social nature. My private life is my own. I **will** marry the Champion of Cyrodiil..." she said firmly. Then she looked back at Torin, her expression softening, melting into a question. "…if...he will have me," she added, her anxious countenance awaiting an answer.

Torin smiled proudly. She had just taken control of her Empire. After all this time, being led, being guided uncertainly, she had asserted herself and taken back the power from Vaelor and from the Council. She truly was Empress now, in every sense of the word. And her first act had been to part with tradition and decide to wed a commoner. If he would **have** her…he laughed aloud.

Alessia's brow furrowed in confusion.

"If I would **have** you?" he said, his face becoming serious. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her then, and the crowd erupted again.

She pulled away from him sheepishly, remembering herself, her position, and where they were. Then she took his hand and raised it above their heads. "My people! We will put this debacle behind us! All will be put right. And as soon as it can be arranged, the Champion of Cyrodiil will become the new Emperor-Consort of Tamriel!"

Great cheers went up.

"You are all invited to celebrate the event! There will be feasting in the streets!" the Empress shouted.

Torin leaned in and winked. "And dancing…" he reminded her.

She smiled. "And dancing!" she added to the crowd. Alessia turned to gaze into his blue eyes. Gods help whoever tried to come between them now, for she was Empress of Cyrodiil. And she would tolerate no more interference.

* * *

"You know this is not over, Alessia…not until we have reached an understanding with the vile Prince," Torin reminded her.

"But…but why must you go alone? I am Empress…I understand why you will not let me face him with you. But, take Henrik or any of my other men. Torin…he is Lord of Deceit, a trickster, a schemer. I would not trust any deal you made with him. You cannot hope to defeat him, so…why must you…Torin, please," Alessia lamented.

He took her by the shoulders gently. "I know what I am doing, Less. It is the only way. I have a plan to appeal to his vanity, to his pride. But I must be assured this will end here, that he will not continue to plot against us. When it is done, I will return and you will be my wife at last," he said softly. "I will be alright. Even Boethiah cannot stop me from coming back for you, I swear it," he added. He took her in his arms, his face a mask of grim determination. He meant to make sure no one ever hurt her again.


	27. Chapter 27

27.

"Thirst for Blood, Hunger for Revenge – The Hunger Games"

"Boethiah!" Torin shouted angrily at the shrine statue, "The Champion of Cyrodiil would have words! Let me in to your realm, fiend!"

Suddenly, he found himself transported once more into Oblivion, this time landing in the center of a great round pit, bordered by thick stone walls. Five archways with five heavy iron gates formed the only entrances to the structure. Caked blood clung to the dusty earth. Bones and old rusted, broken weapons littered the landscape. It was an arena clearly, where many a bloody skirmish had been waged…thousands of years of gladiatorial diversion for a Daedric Prince. Torin wondered briefly how many participants in these games had been voluntary.

A hollow voice rang out. "Your audacity knows no bounds, adventurer! You dare come here?! To confront me in my own domain?! For what purpose do you come to me in this foolhardy manner? My weak and pathetic servant Vaelor has failed to end you. Do not make the mistake of presuming **I** will."

"Only a craven coward would take his vengeance on the loved ones of those he feels wronged him," Torin responded boldly, goading the Prince in a direction away from his beloved Empress.

"Silence, interloper! You cannot speak to me with such insolence!" Boethiah sputtered.

"Your plot has miscarried. The coup is finished, your agent destroyed. I am still here and so is my Empress. The Nine have seen to that. Yet I would not have you try again in your lust for revenge. I am not a fool. I did not come here to wage a war with you I cannot hope to win. I bring to you instead a proposition. I know that you live for your tournament of blood and sport. Since it is battle you crave, and contest you love, I offer you a wager. I will fight for your pleasure this once against your chosen combatant. If I win, you agree to cease your foul vendetta against me and those I love."

Boethiah gauged him carefully, considering his proposal. "And if you lose, you will die. Hmmm…hardly the elegant scheme I once envisioned, yet it may prove amusing. As long as **I** set the rules of engagement. Since you spurn the defense of my Tournament of Ten, it is only fitting that you take up the gauntlet against **ten** more of my choosing. You must vanquish them all to win."

"I accept," the Champion replied tersely. He should have known it would not be easy.

Boethiah held up a slender finger. "Ah, but there is one stipulation. You easily defeated my previous champions one at a time. I would witness more entertaining spectacle than before. Therefore, I decree you must fight them all at once."

The adventurer's jaw fell open, but he regained his composure quickly and clenched it in anger. "You seek unfair advantage in the challenge," Torin pointed out uneasily.

"**You** seek the Lord Boethiah's forgiveness," the Daedric Prince retorted promptly.

Torin smirked, his eyes narrowing. "It is not his forgiveness I seek, but the end to his cruel game…the end to his retribution. It is for that alone I stand before you, offering to fight in your arena. Your absolution means nothing to me."

Boethiah's eyes flashed. Then he laughed unexpectedly. "You are courageous, indeed, to address a Daedric Prince with such contempt. It is a pity you refused the honor I would bestow upon you. Now, only death awaits you. I could slay you myself easily enough, but it is true I am fond of worthwhile competition. So, I will agree to your terms, Champion of Cyrodiil. If you can defeat the ten champions of my choice, I will seek vengeance no more against you. If you win, you and your precious Empress may go your own way. But you will not triumph…and you shall not survive," he added in a low, sinister tone, a vicious sneer curling his lips. He raised his arm. The five gates groaned and the bars slid upward. Through each of the archways passed two Daedric creatures.

By the Gods! NO!

"And now, Champion, you will know my Hunger," Boethiah laughed, "They have come to feed, for they are Ravenous! Let the Games begin!"

The Hunger! They were terrible and dangerous foes in single combat. Now he faced ten of them! Bizarre-looking Daedric minions of Boethiah, the Hunger were so-named because they were gaunt and shriveled with long, thin limbs, a spiny tail and an oversized spiked head that was overwhelmed by the huge, protruding, gaping mouth from which their tongues lashed as a weapon. They moved quickly, with a strange willowy grace that belied their odd and awkward appearance. They were not strong, nor particularly hardy, but they did not need to be. For the powers at their command were daunting. They possessed the ability to paralyze and to sap the energy from their foes. While this in and of itself did not make him flinch, there was one thing that did. Torin Grayrider was a powerful warrior and he had spared no expense on his equipment this day as he prepared to face his enemy's chosen champions. But every fighting man knew that his weapons and armor would soon be useless against the Hunger. A single foul monster could disintegrate armor and weapons within minutes. An army of ten could eliminate his warrior's advantage in a matter of seconds should he not be nimble enough to avoid their spells. And the Ravenous species was near the top of the dreaded hierarchy of these creatures. Only the Voracious Hunger was more powerful.

Torin's mind raced. He would need to adjust his strategy radically. He would need to move constantly to avoid their vicious tongues and dodge their raking claws. Though their paralysis spells were weak, he could not allow himself to be paralyzed at the outset…even a few seconds at the mercy of such a large number of them and he would face certain disaster. He must strike quickly and effectively and thin their numbers before he lost the protection his armor gave him…before he stood before them without sword and shield. For then it would be only his magic and his bare hands…and they were somewhat resistant to magic.

Their spread-out approach was fortuitous to him…he was at the center of a circle of enemies. Knowing he could not let the Hunger surround him in close quarters, he took the battle to **them**, charging towards the first two before the others realized what was happening. He buried a knife in the open maw of the first and rolled, lopping off the head of the second as he came to his feet. Then he ran to the second pair, the ones closest to him. His knife was already starting to crumble so he shot it at the head of one of his attackers, drawing his sword as he closed. He hurled a spell of paralysis at the other and finished them both off quickly. A chunk of his ebony breastplate suddenly fell away as he ducked a tongue that had unfurled at him like a deadly whip. His armor was starting to go, damn it! Torin unleashed a spell of withering cold that should have frozen the creature solid, yet it did but slow him. Still, it was enough for the hero to run him through with his now-failing sword. The formidable odds against him were improving, but his gear was in shambles. His shield was little more than a slab of metal now and he swung it with all his might at one of the creatures, taking him down before the shield itself fell apart. Another quickly took its place. Torin raised his sword to strike the Hunger before him, but the blade disintegrated in his hand even as he swung. The shock of it threw him off-guard and he was struck violently in the head by a darting tongue, finishing off his helm. Torin went down in a heap as three of the Ravenous minions of Boethiah descended on him. He covered his body to defend himself from their sharp blows and felt the last of his armor go. Defenseless now, without sword or shield or armor, he thought he might succumb to the savage onslaught. They were draining his strength, depleting his energy. He fought back, but felt himself growing weaker. Alessia's face appeared in his mind then, and he roared, "NO!" and thrust his hand into the gaunt ribcage of an assailant, summoning a great fireball. It exploded violently, throwing all three of the Daedra off him. Torin quickly murmured spells that fortified his stamina and replenished his strength. Then he grit his teeth and ran towards them again, a madman with no weapons but the heart of a champion. He launched himself at two of the beasts, knocking them to the ground. Then he jumped up and brought his foot down heavily on the skull of one, cracking it. The other he attacked with his bare hands, pummeling it with his fists until the mosnster succumbed to his blows. One Daedra remained now and Torin would not be denied. He stalked it even as it stalked him. When he neared it, he leapt and rolled, coming up behind it. He grabbed its head and twisted sharply, breaking its neck. The last of the Ravenous Hunger slumped to the ground, unfed.

"It is over," Torin said panting heavily, his hands on his knees, "If there is an ounce of honor in you, you will abide by the terms of our wager. Let us be." It was true Boethiah was a deceiver, but Torin's gut told him the Prince's pride, if not his negligible honor, would force him to stay to their agreement. For once, his gut instinct was wrong…and at a most inopportune time.

Boethiah leaped to his feet in a rage and began pacing backing and forth, mentally searching for some way out of his promise. So certain had he been of the outcome, he had easily agreed to the terms…terms he never expected to meet. To be humiliated twice by this mortal…was…inexcusable! He was livid. "Bah! You are champion of nothing but pathetic underlings! Pitiful excuses for combatants!" he ranted.

Torin bit back a smile, but he could not resist the taunt that unwisely sprang to his lips, "And yet they are **your** Chosen Ones…**your** champions."

Boethiah's eyes widened in demonic fury. "You dare to mock **me**! **ME**!" he sputtered, seething with rage.

Torin realized he had gone too far then, and cursed himself for his foolish bravado. He was not alone in this life any longer. He no longer spoke only for himself…took chances only for himself. He had to think of Alessia and her interests now, as well. He stood for the Empire, and could not continue to take such devil-may-care risks as he had in younger days. He quickly swallowed his pride and backed down, thinking to use psychology on the Daedra. "Think now, Prince of the Deadlands. Your Tournament will mean nothing henceforth if you do not honor your victor with his promised reward. None will participate in the event if they think you will not keep your end of the bargain. Come. End the game as pledged, and cease your campaign against me. Retain your honor, Lord Boethiah," Torin said carefully.

The wrath fled from Boethiah's eyes, and a malicious light filled them as a new idea came to mind. He smiled wickedly.

Torin's heart rose in his throat. He had miscalculated badly. He could see it in Boethiah's expression. Alessia…forgive me.

"Your gambit has failed, adventurer! Do not think to play Boethiah for a fool. I will not succumb to your flattery as some of my more gullible brothers and sisters. I need not fear your interpretation of my honor. Potential champions will always flock to my games for no other reason than to please me. Perhaps they will not be as skilled as you…but who is to say when the next Champion of Cyrodiil will come? I have been here for thousands of years and I will be here for thousands more…long after your bones are dust and there is no one to remember you," he sneered. Then he laughed heartily. "But I **will** honor my promise to you," he said, the sneer never leaving his face. He could afford it now, for he had found his way around his oath. "I promised to end my quest for vengeance against you and your Empress. And so it will be. But I made no vow about your Empire…and I made no oath regarding the future generations of your line," the Prince said lightly. Then, he leaned into Torin's face malevolently. "And rest assured, I will be as a plague upon your land. I will call every minion, every disciple forth like a pestilence to harass and torment, to conspire and murder. Your children will know no peace in their lifetime. And it shall be the same for their children and their children's children. For I am eternal…I am Boethiah!" he threatened violently. Then his voice dropped. "But that is, of course, should your children **survive** their natural lifespan," he added ominously, "Perhaps there will **be** no Septims in a few years."

All the blood drained from Torin's face then. By the Gods, what had he done? Had he, in his arrogance, sentenced his children to an unspeakable fate? His Empire to turmoil and decay? There had to be something he could do…something he could say to stop this. His mind raced frantically. The Prince seemed angriest that he had won against lesser beings than himself. An idea occurred to him. Was it possible? Would he take the bait? "You say I am champion of nothing…that I have proven nothing by defeating inferior creatures, not worthy of your Tournament. I will acknowledge that is potentially so. And I can understand that you might not feel my prize fairly won, and thus be reluctant to award it. But it is said far and wide, that you, yourself, are a warrior without equal, though you rarely participate in combat anymore. So, I propose to you now, a second wager…one that will certainly be more to your liking. I know you cannot be killed. But I would do battle with you for the full extent of my freedom from your vengeance. My Empire, my descendants…all that you would attack in your hatred for me. My life in exchange for the sworn oath of a Daedric Prince to cease and desist in all his efforts. Truly would this conflict bring glory to you, should you win it. And should you lose in honorable combat, I swear on the life of all I hold dear, none will ever know. There will be no one the wiser, for I have no need to boast of the deed. I simply wish freedom from your threats. It will be a fight for the ages…one that the Lord Boethiah has craved, I think, for your love of competition is widely known. Perhaps **this** contest **would** be worth the prize," Torin offered, trying to hide his anxiety that his bid would not be accepted. It was madness, he knew, taking on a Prince of Oblivion. Yet, what choice did he have?

Boethiah was stunned by the coolness this mortal displayed under the most horrific of conditions, even now attempting to barter his way out of his dilemma when most men would have been begging for mercy at the Daedra's feet. The Prince gazed at him for long moments, considering. It was true what this interloper had said…that he had felt the reward not truly earned…that he yearned for a higher level of competition. This was the crux of his anger now. And it **had** been a long time since he had swung his weapon against a truly worthy opponent in fair combat. Perhaps this was what he truly hungered for…not vengeance, but challenge…for himself. The satisfaction of a battle hard-fought was missing from his existence. He had been gone too long from the theater of war. Too long had he relied on his minions to fight his games for him. Yes. He would do it! He would take on this brash adventurer-turned-Emperor and feel the rush of blood once more, the handle of his mighty axe in his hands. He studied Torin. Many years had it been since he had felt anything akin to admiration for a mortal…not since the days of Tiber Septim himself. But this Grayrider that dared to face him now so boldly…who did not cower in the face of insurmountable odds…who was not aquiver with fear when he faced the wrath of a Daedric Prince…this mortal was something different. Abruptly, his fickle anger…the manipulative, capricious anger of the Daedric Princes…vanished, and he now gazed with a measure of respect upon his foe. "So be it. I will face you as you propose. Your life will hang in the balance, but **only** your life. For offering me a chance at worthwhile contest once again, I will seek vengeance no more. If you perish, there will be no further consequences. If you triumph, an unlikely occurrence indeed, I will end my vendetta completely, and you will walk away a free man without fear of further threat from me. Do you agree?" Boethiah asked.

Torin looked down at himself. All his equipment had dissolved away. His clothes were torn and bloody, his feet covered only in the cloth lining for his boots. "Your Hunger has destroyed my weapons and armor. Would you fight an unarmed man with no protection?" he asked.

"Ah, yes. But there would be no sport if I did not see you properly outfitted for battle," the Daedra replied. At the imperious flick of his wrist, weapons and armor were brought for Torin. The chestpiece and greaves were not his ebony plate, but were not of flimsy build. And the sword seemed true and strong. He nodded, satisfied at the equipment. Then he took a deep breath. Truly, he had no idea how to defeat a Prince of this realm. His efforts against Dagon had revealed the relative futility of it. He had only been able to harry the demon while Akatosh banished him. Torin could not look to an end of this affair by the death of his opponent, for there would be no death for Boethiah. "You know I cannot kill you. What will be a sign of your defeat?" he asked.

"It is a valid point. But fear not. I seek only fair sport this day…a return to my glorious days with weapon in hand. So, it will be that I will fight as a mortal…my skill with an axe against yours with a sword. You will use no offensive enchantments, nor will I. It is a solely a test of physical prowess with weapons. You may fight in whatever manner you like. You may use whatever fortitude spells you wish, for I am a Daedric Prince that knows little fatigue, and I have no desire to simply outlast your mortal stamina. It is a conquest-at-arms I seek. Yet, if you have me in position that would mean certain death for a mortal foe, I will yield, and the conflict will end. But recognize that for **you**, there will be no yielding. I will end you if I can, so think not to throw yourself on my mercy. There will be none. Do we understand one another?" Boethiah asked.

Torin nodded.

Boethiah smiled, this time in genuine excitement. To fight once more against opponent of worth! "Let us begin the game," he declared.

* * *

His strategy was new to him. Torin's primary goal was to stay alive. He dare not take his usual chances. Fight defensively until the moment came when there was the opening he sought…when he could make his move, he told himself. For he knew his mastery of the sword was unequalled. And this Prince was admittedly out of practice. There would be a moment…a moment Torin would seize. He held on to that hope, that he might hold onto his life. He could not kill Boethiah, but he must make him concede. He must.

Boethiah stepped down off his throne and grasped his massive axe, unused for many a century, yet still honed to sharp edge. Its giant blade spanned the width of a man's arm. Torin was sure if it struck him fully, he would be cleaved in twain in an instant, despite the borrowed armor. With grim, fatalistic humor, he made a mental note not to let the axe strike him. He knew little of Boethiah's strength in wielding such a great weapon, but it seemed Torin's only advantage. For the very nature of a two-handed weapon such as this axe was that while devastating in its damage, it was cumbersome in its use…slow and unwieldy. Torin knew he would have to rely on his speed to triumph…to force that inescapable instant where Boethiah must surrender.

The figure Boethiah cut was formidable. His shoulders were protected by great metal guards with a large spike atop each. Besides boots, he wore no other armor to speak of, but approached bare-chested, wearing a grand cape that was fastened to his shoulders by a golden chain with a skull clasp that hung at his breastbone. He looked every bit the warrior. Now, it was for Torin to gauge his enemy…and find the weakness that would allow him victory.

The two circled each other, each studying, searching for clues to the strength and flaws of his opponent. Tentatively, they clashed, measuring their arms against that of their foe…learning. Then, Boethiah ended the dance, charging Torin with a great and powerful swing. It was what the Champion was waiting for…the impatience of the Daedric Prince to fight. Now, Torin would know the strength and speed of his adversary, and he could adjust his strategy accordingly.

Boethiah was wildly aggressive in his arrogance, but with the great axe as his chosen weapon, his movements were slowed. The Champion of Cyrodiil dodged easily, over and over, striking at the Prince as he passed. Boethiah's frustration began to show, but not his fatigue. It seemed he would not tire before Torin did, even with his spells to fortify himself.

For nearly an hour they fought, neither with clear advantage. Both bore cuts and bruises, but as a mortal, Torin felt his more profoundly, and he knew he could not go on like this much longer. This Prince was a master with an axe and had given him little opening to claim his concession. And Torin could not help but notice Boethiah's swings were getting closer, and his own dodges less nimble. So far, Boethiah's weapon had only grazed him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the great blade found him cleanly. And it would only take one blow to finish it. In that moment, he got a mad idea. If it would only take one blow to end him, what need had he of armor, really? Its weight slowed him considerably, and now that fatigue was a definite factor for him, it could prove his undoing. Alessia had always managed quite well with her light armor, darting about with swiftness that was astounding. Alessia…another image flashed through his mind. Dare he do what he was thinking? Somehow he had to find an advantage…and now he thought he might have it. To the utter astonishment of the Lord of the Deadlands, Torin cast aside his armor. Only his boots still bespoke a warrior. He felt lighter than air now…stronger, faster. He grinned.

"You…you would face me without protection?!" Boethiah asked in amazement.

Torin backpedaled, still grinning, trying to lure his foe into his trap.

The Prince shook his head in disbelief. Perhaps this mortal was not as intelligent as he had thought. Then he strode towards his enemy confidently, believing him already conquered.

The Daedric Lord was in position now along the rounded wall and Torin was ready. Boethiah lunged at him, taking a great swing. But Torin dodged easily now. Thank you, Alessia, he murmured to himself. It was time to take a page out of her book of maneuvers. He ran toward the wall and leaped up, running up the crude stone blocks a few feet, and springing off it directly at the recovering Prince, who had not realized what was happening. Torin smashed the hilt of his sword into Boethiah's jaw with such force it knocked him back. It was all the Champion needed to get close enough to avoid the long reach of the axe. Torin was on top of him then, and the giant weapon useless. Before the Daedra could regain his stance, Torin's sword had slipped under the axe blade and using all his strength, he wrenched the axe from Boethia's grip. The stunned Prince stared at Torin a moment, then launched himself toward his fallen weapon, landing in the hard dust, his hand grasping the axe. But Torin's foot came down hard on the handle. It would not be lifted against him again.

"Yield!" an exhausted Torin huffed sharply, the point of his sword to the Daedric Lord's throat. "It is certain death for a mortal, if I so much as tilt in an inch. Now, yield, damn you! It is over!" Torin snarled, unwilling to accept any more of Boethiah's delays and half-truths.

Boethiah looked surprised at Torin's bold demands, and the hero could not tell which direction his thoughts leaned. There was a tense silence while the Prince considered. Torin's patience wore thin and he pressed in until the tip of his sword drew Daedric blood. It was all for show, of course, since both of them knew he couldn't be killed. But the Lord of the Deadlands found this gesture of intimidation wildly amusing and he laughed aloud then. "I yield, Champion! You have won the day!" he chuckled, "Bravo! Excellent sport! Ah, what I would not give for a hundred like you! So bold and fearless! You fight like a madman! Sheogorath would welcome you in his Shivering Isles, should you have a desire to see his realm one day."

Torin breathed a massive sigh of relief.

"You have given a good account of yourself this day, Champion of Cyrodiil. You have fought Lord Boethiah to a standstill, and provided me great entertainment in the offing. My defeat at your hands has proven to me that you are the **exception**, not the rule. It is not **my** champions who are inferior, for they are extraordinary warriors. It is that **you** stand so far above them all. My Tournament of Ten will continue with worthy clash. And perhaps, I will join in from time to time to quench my thirst for combat. And, in my generosity, I will keep my bargain. Return to your world, you need fear me no more," he announced magnanimously. Then he laughed again, with great relish, as though all that had transpired was but a grand joke, a world-encompassing diversion that had come to its amusing end. Such was the attitude of the Daedric Princes. The Mundus was their field of sport, the people mere pawns. Such were the cruel games they played with the lives of mortals.

He waved his hand dismissively, and Torin found himself at the shrine once more, Boethiah's laughter still ringing in his ears. Damn Daedra, if I could have slain you… he muttered to himself. He stood up and cast a healing spell over his battered body and noted his attire was once more his own, ragged and stained with blood. Boethiah's generosity apparently did not extend to letting him keep his boots and weapon for the trip back. He shook his head. Damn Daedra! he thought again. Then he took off for Imperial City and his Empress, relieved of the looming threat of the Prince of Plotters and looking for all the world a pauper without a penny to his name.


	28. Chapter 28

28.

"The Dance Begins"

Ocato had been able to smooth things over with High Rock. It was as Sister Phebe had said. Vaelor was not as well-liked and influential as he had made out to the Council when he had petitioned them for Alessia's hand. News had made it back to the northern province of his treachery and the Empress turned out to be far more popular than the Prince of Shornhelm, even in the short time that she had reigned. There was indignation and embarrassment among the populace that one of their own had stooped to such heinous measures. There would not be any negative political repercussions coming out of High Rock. If anything, the incident had strengthened relations through an outpouring of sympathy.

Alessia had made herself exceedingly occupied while Torin was gone, preparing for the wedding, attending to matters of state…trying not to worry for him. She had removed the more extreme elements of the Elder Council - those she suspected were corrupt, those entrenched in the old way of thinking…so mired in tradition that their judgments were in doubt. She replaced them with moderates…open-minded and just thinkers who would help her lead the Empire towards a freer, stronger society. She had kept Ocato on as Chancellor. Alessia felt he was a good man that had succumbed to pressure to force her marriage to the Breton. But she retained him with the understanding that **she** was the Empress and ruled Cyrodiil with the **aid** of the Elder Council…not the other way around.

She had been overjoyed to see Torin on his return, and sought details on his encounter with the Daedric Prince. But he had steadfastly refused to tell her what had happened with Boethiah, saying only that it was over at last and he genuinely believed Boethiah would never bother them again. No amount of wheedling or coaxing would loosen his tongue. She had pouted for a few moments at his guarded behavior, especially now, when they were on the threshold of marriage. But he had asked for her faith, swearing he could not tell her lest it endanger them further, and she had relented. What did it matter really **how** he had ended it, as long as he had? Had he not earned her trust? It went against her feminine sensibilities, but she had let it go. And that would have been the end of it…except his mysterious behavior had not ended there.

Alessia had noticed Torin's absences during the last two weeks. He kept disappearing for long periods of time, sometimes twice a day. When she asked him about it, he was evasive, saying merely he was running errands or getting prepared for the wedding. But she knew him well enough to know he was keeping something from her. He had always been a terrible liar, Alessia thought, remembering their first meeting and his tale of Martin's inheritance.

And more disturbing still, was the matter of his recent attentions to one of the most desirable ladies of the Court, Madame DuBarie, a thirty-two year old widow whose beauty rivaled her own. She had spotted them together on more than one occasion, whispering and laughing intimately as though they shared some great secret. She trusted Torin, yet…her face darkened. What possible business could he have with **her**!? the Empress thought irritably. Come to think of it, she had never laid eyes on Madame DuBarie at the same time Torin was away. A seed of doubt crept into her mind, irritating her further.

Alessia had found herself growing increasingly cool towards him as the wedding approached, quite against her will. Now, she sat staring at pen and paper. The parchment held her partially written wedding vows and she had been trying to finish all morning, but her mind kept drifting back to her nagging uncertainty. Alessia found it difficult to focus, and more difficult to write what she wanted…what she felt. It should not be like this! she thought in frustration. Finally, she determined to confront him about it.

"She is very beautiful…and engaging, I suppose…in an **obvious** way," Alessia said casually as Torin prepared to leave once more. She was more than a little annoyed her remark sounded so catty.

Torin frowned in confusion. "What? Who is?" he asked. Alessia had been growing more distant in recent days for some reason, and her tone now was perplexing.

"Why, Madame DuBarie, of course…" she continued down her jealous path nonchalantly as though it were apparent to everyone, "…the woman you have been spending so much time with of late. But really, darling, so close to the wedding will set people's tongues to wagging. I am Empress, you know. Do try to be more discreet," she advised as indifferently as she could. She realized after she said it that she did not seem indifferent at all, and cursed herself for her poor handling of the subject. Yet, she would know now what was going on. He would not avoid her again.

Torin started. How did she…? Then it occurred to him what Alessia was thinking. Uh-oh. So she knew he had been going to see Madame DuBarie. And she had leaped to the obvious…but wrong…conclusion. Well…well…well. After all the lectures on jealousy and pride, which he admittedly deserved, she was falling victim to the same foible. Without his being aware of it, a slow smile of amusement spread across his face that Alessia found infuriating.

"Do you think it funny?! That I am distressed about your relationship with another woman just before our wedding?" she said, heartbroken.

Torin snapped out of his gloating humor and grabbed her shoulders to prevent things from escalating. "No…stop it! I'm not…I'm not cheating on you! How can you even **think** that?!" he said, growing irritated.

"You and Claudette DuBarie have been…and I…I have asked you where you have been going these last two weeks and you lied to me repeatedly!" she cried.

Uh-oh. That was true. He took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm sorry. You're right. I did not think you would notice, and when you did I tried to throw you off track. It never occurred to me you would think…" he said sadly. "Ah, but it was supposed to be a surprise," he added in disappointment. "Perhaps it is best if I show you what I have been up to," he said, a mysterious smile on his face. He unexpectedly put one arm about her waist and took her hand with the other. "Might I have this dance?" he asked devilishly.

She looked confused. "Wh…what? You…do not dance…" Alessia stammered.

"I do **now**," Torin returned, whirling her around the room with some practiced skill. "I am certain you have danced with men far more gifted than I," he said casually as he swept the stunned Empress about, "But I am a warrior, not a court peacock, and so, I am afraid my talents in this area will never meet with the approval of the patient Madame Dubarie." Then he stopped and bowed, kissing her hand. "It was an honor, my Empress. You are as graceful as a gazelle. But if you are of a mind, I should like to take all my lessons with **you** henceforth, if you will be so kind as to continue my instruction," he said gallantly. "I believe pursuing my current course with Madame Dubarie will cause the woman of my dreams undue distress…and may be hazardous to my health," he added mischievously.

Alessia blushed and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Gods! I've been a fool! I'm sorry, Torin," she murmured, mortified she had so misread the situation.

He smiled, clutching her to him. "So, my wildcat **does** have a jealous bone in her body," he teased.

"I have many jealous bones. And none of them wish to share you. But…truly I should have known better. Forgive me, my love," Alessia murmured, holding him close. "I suppose I am just nervous for tomorrow. I am nothing short of a disaster this day. I have shirked all my Imperial duties trying to finish writing my vows for the ceremony, yet nothing I come up with is good enough. But I am certain you have already finished yours, yes?" she asked lightly.

His eyes grew wide in panic. Uh-oh. Alessia was not the only nervous one. He had completely forgotten. Torin pulled back abruptly. "Uh…I just remembered…I have tooo…see my horse," he stuttered, backing rapidly out of the room. "I mean…my horse needs to see me…" he said, frowning at his own lameness, "...I…my horse needs shoes! Shoeing…horseshoes…I have to…go…now…" he fumbled, pointing toward the door.

Alessia stood with eyebrows arched and her mouth hanging open in surprise as he fairly bolted from the room.

"I'll be back later…I love you!" she heard him shout as he disappeared at a rapid clip down the hall.

She grinned and shook her head in patient indulgence. "…my horse needs to see me…", indeed. She laughed aloud. May he never learn to lie better than that, Alessia thought. Her mind at rest now, she set about finishing her own vows, as she knew Torin had run off to do.

* * *

The wedding was a great and joyous event, the city reveling in the recovery of their Empress and the crowning of their Champion as Emperor. It was a grand day marked by feasting…and dancing. Alessia had to admit, Madame DuBarie had done a brilliant job with him. He was almost masterful, sweeping her around the ballroom as though he had danced all his life.

Torin had given her a red diamond for a wedding ring…a stone rare beyond measure, representing her ancestor Alessia and the blood of the Septim line. It had been his great surprise for her and she had been overwhelmed. _Then let __**this**__ dragonfire burn - an eternal flame - as a sign to all men and gods of __**our**__ faithfulness,_ she thought, admiring the exquisite ring.

Torin approached her, resplendent in his wedding attire.

Her emerald eyes lit up when she saw him, and his heart skipped a beat. Would that she would ever gaze at him thus. "A thousand septims for your thoughts, my love…" he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.

"I was just thinking how supremely happy I am…how the one thing in this world that I wanted…the one thing I thought I had lost forever has been returned to me. And now I want for nothing. Isn't it strange, Torin," she mused, pulling back to look at him, "…to think that but a short time ago we were adventurers carving out our paths and living out our lives in solitude? Never imagining what lay in store for us?"

He grinned. "Ah, but who said our adventures have ended? We have our whole lives ahead of us, my Empress."

"As long as it is with you," she replied emotionally. She leaned in and kissed him. When she released his lips, they realized all eyes were on them. Alessia smiled sheepishly. "You make me forget who and where I am, my love," she teased. "Perhaps it is time we took our feelings upstairs and explored them more fully," she suggested slyly.

Torin grinned. "And leave such a joyous celebration?" he asked in mock resistance.

The Empress smirked. "Then I shall make it a command," she said gamely.

"Ah, in that case, I must obey. You have the makings of a tyrant, my love," he joked. Torin laughed heartily and took her hand, leading her to the staircase.

The wedding guests murmured their approval and cheers and thunderous applause broke out for the beloved newlyweds as they began their lives anew.

* * *

They were ecstatically happy together in the months following the wedding, following Dibella's life instructions to the letter. Tamriel grew stronger under its treasured monarchs. But Torin was an adventurer at heart. As much as he loved his Alessia, the life at Court…the life of politics…was often drab and mundane, and he yearned for excitement once more. He longed for a time when they wandered the countryside together, even if the circumstance was not to be desired. He had found he was not truly ready in his heart to settle down to a life of legislation and leisure. Though he made a point of working out with the Blades regularly, he felt his fighting edge was slipping away in the routine of the Court of the Empire.

Alessia had noticed his boredom, though he tried to hide it. But she knew him too well. She had adapted to the life better than he, though it was not the one she would have chosen. Yet **she** had no choice. But Torin…

One day, she approached him, heart in her throat for the words she was about to utter. "I will miss you greatly while you are gone…" she started.

Torin scowled in confusion.

"But I think it is time you went on some sort of adventure…dungeon crawling, or perhaps just checking in on your houses in Cyrodiil for a few weeks. I feel sure you can drum up something exciting to do along the way," she said, a sparkle in her eye. "Besides, I cannot have you underfoot all the time and still run this government effectively. You are a hero. Go…be heroic…do some good for our people, the fine citizens of Tamriel," she teased.

Torin started. "No…I…cannot leave you…" he began. But the prospect made his heart beat faster.

Alessia smiled at him then, seeing his reluctance was mixed with a childlike exhilaration. She loved him enough to do this for him. As much as she hated for him to leave her side, he needed this. "Go, you silly boy," she said, ruffling his hair as though he were twelve again. "Go play, and when you return, I will remind you why you married me and chose to stay here. Go be a boy, and when you come back, I will make you a man again," she promised mischievously.

Gods, but he loved her! He took her in his arms and lifted her off the ground, twirling her around.

Alessia laughed to see him so happy. She could survive a few weeks without him, as long as she knew he would come back to her. And she knew he was capable of moving heaven and earth to do it…for he already had.

* * *

"You are ready! Do not delay. They are still not fully recovered from the other Princes' machinations. You must strike!" Meridia cajoled. The Daedra Lord had plied him for days to make his dread anticipated return…coaxing, enticing, flattering. Now, she was on the verge of persuading him to go forth with his great plan. "It is a time of upheaval…of uncertainty…of chaos. Prince Dagon began it. Lord Boethiah perpetuated it with his coup. Now **you** can end it, once and for all. **You** can bring about the great change…the downfall of those who would call themselves Gods. Waste no more time in preparation. Give no more thought to planning. The day has arrived! My Aurorans are yours to command. You are the greatest King of the Ayleids…you are Umaril the Unfeathered! And you are my champion. I have granted you immortality. You cannot lose! None can stand before you! Put your grand design into motion and see your long-awaited destiny fulfilled. It is time to succeed where Dagon failed! It is time to destroy the Nine!" she urged almost feverishly.

There was a long silence. Then Umaril's eyes narrowed at the thought of realizing his vengeance at last, and he nodded his head slowly in accord.

Meridia sat back, a malicious grin on her face. Umaril the Unfeathered, Ayleid Elf-King, warrior and sorcerer supreme, was on the threshold of victory in his great struggle so long ago against the Slave Queen and Pelinal Whitestrake. Then, triumph was snatched from his grasp, and he was cut down. But Meridia had saved him from eternal death. Though his body had perished in the mortal plane, she had bound him to her in immortality and brought him to her Colored Rooms to await his foretold return…to prepare for the time when he would make his fateful reappearance…to make him invincible. **She** dare not strike at the Gods, but with a champion the likes of Umaril the Unfeathered leading her Aurorans…she could taste their bitter defeat already. Three thousand years…the time had come. Soon, the fate of the Nine would be sealed, and the Gods would be no more.


	29. Chapter 29

29.

"One Noble Flea of Mighty Assertion"

Torin had decided to go check on his homes scattered throughout Cyrodiil as Alessia had suggested. He felt a strange mix of enthusiasm and guilt as he passionately kissed her goodbye and headed south to Cheydinhal. She had, Gods bless her, assured him she would be fine…that she had much to do, and would be glad of him getting out in the world again. And he believed her. But he knew, in his heart, she longed to go with him…to travel freely and live spontaneously again. Alessia craved the life they had left behind as much as he did. But she was not free to pursue this whimsical adventure. He was sad for her, and recognized the sacrifice she was making so that at least **he** could taste it again, if only briefly. What a wonderful woman she was! He was only a few hours ride out of Imperial City and he laughed to think he had not stopped thinking about her. She truly has me wrapped around her exquisite finger, that I can miss her so after such a short time apart, he chuckled to himself.

* * *

He was at Battlehorn when he heard. Torin had honed his combat skills over the last three weeks on bandits, wandering Daedra, and the occasional lair of necromancers that had the great misfortune to be in his path. Now, he was in Chorrol getting supplies. The town was abuzz and aghast at the terrible news. The Chapel of Dibella in Anvil had been attacked…its interior wrecked and its inhabitants slaughtered. Who would do such a thing!? Who would have the audacity? Knowing they would be hunted endlessly? It was not only heinous and blasphemous, it was stupid. And it hurt his heart most that it was the Chapel of Dibella, the Goddess of Love and Beauty who had given his Alessia back to him. He could not abide by this.

He jotted off a letter to Alessia explaining the situation. Torin had planned to go back to Imperial City in the next couple of days. Now, he had made up his mind to head to Anvil and try to avenge this sacrilege…to find those responsible and see them punished. Alessia would understand and approve, he was certain.

Torin sighed at the thought of putting off returning to her. He had missed her greatly. And who knew how long this would take? But it could not be helped. An incident like this could conceivably upset the social balance in all of Tamriel…perhaps becoming a flashpoint for rioting and religious extremism. The Empire could not afford this now, when it was just getting back on its feet. Torin's modesty had not allowed him to give his honorary title much credence. But if ever the Empire needed a Champion, it was now. He felt he had to resolve this quickly to avoid further bloodshed. But most of all, he owed Dibella justice. They both did. Alessia would understand.

* * *

Torin arrived in Anvil and headed straight for the Chapel. The first sound that greeted his ears was the ranting of a man in robes across from the chapel, spouting dire warnings. Damn, he thought, it's begun already. He was afraid of this…the incident had triggered the appearance of the doomsayers and zealots who seized on such tragedies to further their agendas.

"Hear me, o people of Cyrodiil! Look well upon the Chapel of Dibella. Look at the faces of the dead. This is your future. Evil has returned, and the Nine need a champion! Is there no one who would stand for the Nine? Now, Dibella's children cry out from beyond the grave for vengeance! How many more must die at Umaril's hand? _I AM CYRODIIL COME_, he said, Old Reman, born from the earth that IS Al-Esh, and yet he would scorn this country now! Repent! I say again, REPENT! The blood of Dibella's slaughtered acolytes cries out for vengeance. Vengeance! Who will take up this holy crusade? Love and Mercy! Do you still think me mad? Who shall next fall to Umaril's bloody revenge?" the prophet raged.

Torin shook his head at the ramblings and approached the guard outside the once-great chapel.

"I wouldn't go in there unless you have a strong stomach, Champion. We have orders to leave everything just the way it was until the investigation is finished," the guard warned.

"Tell me about the attack on the Chapel," Torin said.

"It was terrible. I've fought in many battles, seen many things...but this..." the man shook his head in disgust, "... the priests and priestesses of Dibella, slaughtered within the very walls of her Chapel. The Altar itself desecrated! No one saw who did it. No one yet living, that is. Although many heard the screams. Speak to the Prophet, there. He preaches most of the day across the street from the Chapel. He knows what this portends. He says it is only the beginning. I used to think he was crazy, but now he seems to be making some kind of sense…I hope that doesn't mean **I'm** going crazy now," said the guard, pondering his own words.

Torin glanced back at the man railing across the street and dismissed him, moving instead into the Chapel.

An hour later, Torin exited the house of worship sick to his stomach, but not from the death he had witnessed. He had seen much in his day. But the seeming carnage for the sake of carnage …the savagery perpetrated against innocents…devotees of love and beauty…it sickened him that such an atrocity could even take place. He was more determined now than ever that these monsters be brought to justice. He looked again at the sack-clothed man across the way and sighed. He was not anxious to listen to the old codger's ravings, but he knew he should find out if this "prophet" knew anything about the attack on the Chapel.

"The Eight And One require a champion, a Divine Crusader reborn. Pelinal Whitestrake once struck down the enemies of man and god. Who will now reclaim his Relics and fight again for the true faith? There are loremasters among you, heads so heavy with learning that you cannot raise your eyes to the heavens to see the truth there written! Cut eight-wise he was, Pelinal the Blamer, champion of Men, and though dispersed, he left us a warning! Heed it! Umaril is returned, as was foretold by the head of Pelinal to the Bull of Kyne in those days of old Cyrodiil. Who will walk the Pilgrim's Way, as did the questing knights of old? The blood tide rises! Will no one take up this holy crusade? Will no one walk the ancient Pilgrim's Way? Oh unhappy Tamriel! Where is your Divine Crusader, in these latter days of petty strife and lesser men? Umaril - yes, your children know that name if you do not. The Dread Castellan of fearful legend. Did you think him a myth? Or dead? Have you not heard the Abadal-a? Spoke Pelinal: _'Beware, Morihaus, beware! With the foresight of death I know now that my foe yet lives, bitter knowledge to take to my grave...' 'Better that I had died believing myself the victor. Although cast beyond the doors of night, he will return.' 'Be vigilant! I can no longer shield the host of Men from Umaril's retribution.' _Thus spake Pelinal in the hour of his death. The Unfeathered has come during the Breaking of Gates! His golden-wickedness will hold fast against all arms except those of his ancient foe, the Whitestrake! The Gate, once open, cares not who passeth through. Our ancient enemy has returned, from the deeps of time, to exact his revenge upon the Gods. The Gods, the Eight Attendants of Saint Pelinal when he smote down Umaril the Unfeathered...but the Eight and One favor only the righteous! And too few of you remain! The Thief has found the lock that he cannot break! The Warrior, the foe that cannot fall! The Wizard, an incantation that takes not to his tongue! Truly this is the Age of the Serpent and the Void that follows! The Guardians have fallen and no one remains to watch their charges, and all the heavens are now banquet for the Princes of Misrule! And Talos said to the Arctus, _'Let us join as one to fortify this throne, this land, these people, each one glorious under heaven!'_ Would you not do the same, children of Cyrodiil? No, you would not! This is plain! You looked away when the fires flickered! Only death remains for Tamriel! Death and oblivion! _'That all the Interplay is one flea of assertion on a wolf of naught.'_ It is by these heresies that you fall from grace! Shame on you, people of Cyrodiil, and more shame for the children that you give freely to the mouth of Destruction! My Empress, you must act! Take your Consort's hand and together strike at the heart of the evil here! Do not let Umaril re-establish his tyranny! Citizens, take to your knives! Are there no ears to hear the warnings? Are there no eyes to witness the Wheel's breaking? You pore over your dusty tomes of lore. You study ancient genealogies and bloodlines. Look you to blood for truth? There is truth in blood, but it is not the truth that you seek! The truth is written in the blood of the innocent, there in the Chapel of Love! Can you not read the ancient runes? _'As oiobala Umarile, Ehlnada racuvar!'_ A curse and a threat to those who have eyes to see and ears to hear! Are there are any among you who still understand the ancient tongue? _'By the eternal power of Umaril, the mortal gods shall be cast down.'_ Who will match the deeds of Ser Amiel and his companions when they smote the Wyrm of Elenglynn to recover the Cuirass of the Crusader? Think on this - what happened here is only the beginning," the Prophet warned, to close his speech, suddenly exhausted.

The crowd dispersed and he sat wearily on the step. Such animated oratory took a great toll on his old and feeble body. He glanced up when he saw the shadow Torin cast over his resting form. The prophet could tell by the look on Torin's face that he was skeptical. "So, another one who has come to listen to the madman's rantings, eh?" he mused.

Torin remained implacable. "So, what do you know about what happened here?" he asked solemnly.

"This is only the beginning. Umaril has returned, as foretold by Pelinal Whitestrake in his dying breath!" the Prophet exclaimed wildly.

Torin was losing patience. "The chapel, man! Focus! What do you know about the attack?!" he barked.

"Do you understand nothing?! Bah! Does no one remember the old tales? The blood speaks! Umaril the Unfeathered, the sorceror-king of the Ayleids who ruled over this land for long ages before the rise of Men was cast down by Pelinal Whitestrake. Saint Pelinal, the Divine Crusader of legend - Alessia's companion when she overthrew the rule of the Ayleids 3,000 years ago. Pelinal, with the aid of the gods, fought the Ayleid sorceror-king Umaril and slew him. But Umaril's spirit survived, and now he has returned to seek vengeance upon the Gods," the Prophet declared, his eyes alight with religious fervor.

Torin's eyebrows rose. This man was dangerously close to being over the edge. He thought it best to humor him until he could gain the information he sought. "How did Umaril's spirit survive, then?" he continued, trying to appear interested in the prophets ravings.

The old man looked dejected. "You do not believe. I can see it in your eyes. But I must speak the truth, regardless of your faith in it. All must know what happened here. All must be prepared for what is to come! Umaril was struck down by Pelinal, but by his art and the manipulations of Meridia, he had bound himself to the realm of his mistress, whose sphere is obscured to mortals; who is associated with the energies of living things. So he was not slain, but simply cast adrift upon the waters of Oblivion. It is his Meridian Daedric minions, the Aurorans, clad in golden raiment, who tear at the fabric of our Chapels," the old Prophet said sadly.

At last, something useful. Aurorans. He had heard of the dread Aurorans, fierce warriors of Meridia clad in nearly impenetrable golden armor. But they kept to their Lord's sphere. They had not been seen in the mortal realm since the First Era. Why now would they come forth? Unless there was some kernel of truth to the old man's rants. Was it possible? He had seen many things he would not have thought possible these last years. And he remembered Dibella's words…unrest and turmoil in the planes of Oblivion. Perhaps he should hear the man out. "Aurorans…are you sure? Not mortals in golden armor?" Torin asked to clarify.

"These were no mortals…not in speech or action. They were evil Daedra in the three-blade golden helms of the Auroran, uttering foul grunts and epithets, speaking in the ancient tongue. A curse upon them and their hatred of the Gods!" he spat.

"And Umaril…there are none who can slay his spirit?" Torin asked, suddenly more interested than before.

"Alas. The Unfeathered cannot be stopped. Not without the aid of the Gods. Not without the Crusader's Relics…the weapons and armor of Pelinal Whitestrake, granted to him by the Eight Divines. He went alone into the White Gold Tower, challenged the Ayleid sorceror-king Umaril to single combat, and slew him. Alas, Umaril was not truly slain, but only cast beyond the bounds of Nirn. And now he has returned to wreak his vengeance upon the gods, as was prophesied by Pelinal himself with his dying breath. Only a true knight, wielding the holy Relics of the Divine Crusader, has a chance to defeat Umaril. But, alas for Tamriel, the Crusader's Relics have been lost for many an age. Who now can succeed in the quest for the Relics, where the greatest knights of legend all failed? Without a champion, the gods are powerless to act. But who among us is worthy to wield the Divine Crusader's weaponry?" the Prophet wailed.

"Champion!" the guard called behind him. "A word?"

Torin signaled him to wait a moment.

"Champion?! You are Torin Grayrider, the Champion of Cyrodiil?! Emperor-Consort?! Great Hero of Kvatch!? Praise the Gods! They have sent you to me! You are the One! You are the One who is meant to follow in his footsteps! You are the Pelinal reborn!" the Prophet shouted joyously.

"No…" Torin laughed, "I am no Pelinal. My deeds were not accomplished alone. I am hardly worthy of the praise lavished on me."

"Perhaps…perhaps not. What men value is not always what the Gods look for in a champion. The gods grant insight to those they deem worthy. Why and how they act is not predictable. You **must** quest for the holy panoply of Pelinal Whitestrake! The legendary Relics have been sought by mighty warriors throughout the ages unsuccessfully, but I know now that you have been sent to me by the Gods so that I may guide you…so that the Divine Crusader's armor may be worn once more…so that his sword and mace can be wielded against the dreaded Umaril again. Knights who wished to quest for the Relics walk the Pilgrim's Way. Travel to the Wayshrines of the Nine Divines. Pray to each of the gods in turn, and ask their favor upon your quest. If the Gods deem you worthy, you will be granted a sign. You are the One. I am certain of it! If I can be of any further assistance, do not hesitate, Champion! May the Eight Divines and the One Tiber Septim who ascended guide your steps," he finished.

"I cannot promise I will take up the mantle you desire, old man. But I will investigate your claims, you have my word," Torin said sincerely.

The old Prophet only smiled, as though he knew something Torin did not. His faith was unshakable. He was the One, this Champion of Cyrodiil. And there was hope for the Empire at last.

The guard had found something under a pew, wedged into the wood…something that had been overlooked. It was a small golden curved blade, perhaps three inches long…not a weapon, Torin thought. It was uneven and charred on the wide end as though it had broken off as the result of a struggle. It looked ornate, like part of some ornamental armor. Perhaps like the blade of a golden three-pronged Auroran helm he had only read of in books. Torin looked at the old man across the street, now smiling and humming to himself, his dire doomsayer mood evaporated. It seemed the old prophet might be just that. For he had correctly predicted the Champion of Cyrodiil was going to quest for the Divine Crusader's Relics.


	30. Chapter 30

30.

"Help From An Unexpected Quarter"

Torin was preparing to mount his steed when two men approached him, an older warrior clad in magnificent armor and his young protégé. "Well met, traveler. I could not help but notice you speaking with the Prophet just now. Do you heed his call?" the warrior inquired amiably.

"Yes. I seek the Nine Wayshrines," Torin replied.

"As do I. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ser Roderic. Perhaps we can share the road, as long as our paths lie together. I would be glad of your company if your way lies with mine. I have taken up the Prophet's call to defend the Faith. Only a true knight wielding the Crusader's Relics can stop the evil that now threatens us. I walk the Pilgrim's Way, as did the questing knights of old," he said proudly.

The young lad with him chimed in then. "I am Lathon, squire to Ser Roderic of Wayrest. We are on a holy quest for the Crusader's Relics! Only a true knight can find them - or even wield them. Ser Roderic will surely succeed, if anyone can," Lathon said beaming. "He is a famous knight of Wayrest, in High Rock. He is too modest to tell you himself, but he was a hero of the War of the Bend'r-Mahk," he added boastfully.

Torin smiled and nodded at the boy's enthusiasm. "So you believe what the Prophet says?" he asked.

Ser Roderic's brow furrowed as though there was no question. "**You** have heard him. Like me, you know he speaks the truth. If the Nine will it, I will be the one to recover the Crusader's Relics. Or, perhaps that honor will fall to you…Ser…" he started, realizing he did not know the name of his fellow quester.

"Grayrider…Torin Grayrider," Torin answered.

Ser Roderic was taken aback and the eyes of the young man who stood at his side grew wide as saucers.

"The Hero of Kvatch…the Champion of Cyrodiil?" the young apprentice asked in awe.

Torin had difficulty suppressing a smile at the star-struck squire.

"You…you are the Emperor-Consort? Here…in Anvil?" Roderic asked incredulously. "I…I am humbled, your Highness…and may I say, I am ashamed to claim Prince Vaelor as my countryman. A horrible affair. Those in High Rock believe he was well rewarded for his treachery," he added, bowing his head.

Torin placed a comforting hand on the Wayrest knight's shoulder. "No man should bear the burden of guilt for his countryman. I bear you no ill will, Ser Roderic," he said.

Ser Roderic was visibly relieved…not because he feared his Emperor's retribution, but because he wanted to express his genuine condolences for what the Emperor and Empress had been put through…and because he desired the Champion's respect.

"I wish you well, good Knights, but I am afraid my road is a lonely one. I am headed north to Dibella's shrine. I do not know where my path leads from there, but I must travel it alone," Torin said.

Roderic nodded. He understood. The agenda of the Champion…the Emperor…must be far more important than his. "I understand, Your Highness. But know that should you ever need them, my sword and my loyalty are yours," the older man said resolutely.

"And mine!" Lathon added.

Torin nodded gratefully. "You have my thanks, Ser Roderic, Lathon," he responded. "Fare well."

* * *

He rode for the wayshrine of Dibella, anxious to see if she would give him guidance…anxious to share his grief with the Goddess that had given him back his love. When he knelt at the altar, the Goddess appeared. "Champion of Cyrodiil. You have answered the call as we knew you would. We feel your anguish for us, for those who served us that lost their lives. All that the old Prophet has told you is true. Umaril is filled with anger and hatred for us. He would destroy our influence, our presence in this realm. There is no need for you to seek the blessings of the other Divines at their wayshrines. You already have them. I would speak to you more, but I ask that you return in two days. We have sent you assistance in your quest, for it will be needed. Go now to Gottlesfont Priory for the night. The Sisters there expect you and all will be made clear. When you have rested and your mind is clear and settled, return to me and we will speak again," Dibella commanded.

Torin nodded mutely. He had many questions and felt no small consternation at being sent away now, but the Goddess had been clear she wished to tell him no more at this time. And she had requested the Sisters of Gottlesfont aid him. Sister Phebe and Sister Angrond had been invaluable help in saving the Empire…in saving him. He could trust them.

Torin made it to Gottlesfont late in the afternoon, greeting the Sisters warmly. He owed them much and had become fond of them, like aunts he had never had. "I was told you would assist me in my quest…that all would be made clear when I arrived…" he said, hoping for more information.

Sister Angrond smiled. "Oh, things will be very clear soon enough. But **we** are only here to facilitate things for you. There is another who was sent to meet you here that should arrive tonight," she said.

"As there is only the one room, I will bunk down in the stable, so that my ally may have a suitable place to sleep after his journey," Torin offered. He walked toward the priory, glancing back once as the Sisters whispered to each other. He could have sworn they were going to giggle, but they straightened up as he eyed them. He scowled. My, but they were acting strangely. He wondered what form his aid would take and why Dibella had been so cryptic. But it was not for him to judge…the Gods moved in mysterious ways.

* * *

Torin lay awake in the freshly hayed stall thinking of his beautiful wife…hoping she was well…missing her. The thundering sound of hoofbeats interrupted his lonesome reverie. A single rider. He hoped at last he would get some answers.

The horse trotted into the stable, its rider cloaked and hooded in a simple, unassuming travel garment. Torin stepped out from the stall, spooking both the unsuspecting mare and the woman astride it. She started to reach for a dagger while her horse pranced nervously, eying Torin wildly. He lifted the lantern so she could see his face and his intent, raising his hand in a defensive gesture to indicate he meant no harm. "Forgive me, milady. I didn't mean to startle you," Torin apologized.

The woman slid her dagger back into its sheath.

"I heard your approach and rose to greet you. I am sleeping in the stable. You may have the room in the priory," he said, "I am expecting another."

Alessia's heart swelled to see him again. She grinned at his gallantry under her hood. He did not seem to know who she was. Good. He had not been told she was coming. She had feared he would not meet her here…that he would go off on his own if he knew it was **she **who had been sent to aid him. His love for her was his Achilles' heel and she was afraid he would not let her join him.

"Unless...excuse me, milady, were you sent to meet with me, to provide assistance? Do you have information, perhaps? Are you a Sister of the Nine?" Torin asked politely, wanting to be certain she was not just a lone traveller looking for a waystop for the night. For some unaccountable reason, he had been expecting a man. Yet he still had no idea what kind of assistance she was intended to provide.

She started to speak but found she could not. Her mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed nervously and shook her head. She was certainly no Sister of the Nine.

Torin could make out no detail beneath her cloak. He realized then he was being rude. This woman had ridden hard for a time based on her horse's lather. It was late at night, she had only just arrived, and he was grilling her for answers. "My apologies, milady. I am being thoughtless. You must be weary from your journey and I am pressing you for your purpose. Allow me to look after your horse while you refresh yourself. When I have finished, I will come into the priory and we may talk, if you are of a mind. The Sisters have already retired for the night, so we will be able to speak freely," he suggested. Then he held out his hand to help her off her horse.

Alessia was an experienced adventurer and needed no assistance dismounting, of course. But she was so charmed by his sensitivity that she offered him her gloved hand and let him aid her. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around his neck, instead nodding her assent and appreciation. Then she turned to make her way into the priory.

Torin watched her glide gracefully into the priory, realizing he had yet to see her face or hear her voice. But from the elegant way the cloaked figure moved, there was **no** mistaking it was a woman, he thought grinning.

When he entered the priory, the woman was still upstairs. He took the opportunity to stoke the fire which was on the verge of dying. Once it was crackling again, he sat beside it, poking it absent-mindedly with the poker. A memory returned to him unbidden of the night he told Alessia of his true purpose in seeking out Martin. He smiled and allowed himself to get lost in his memories of her.

Alessia had cleansed herself of the road dust, doffed her armor and changed clothes. She felt refreshed and ready to face him. The Empress descended the stairs silently. He sat before the fire, his back to her, lost in thought. She was overcome with love for him and could contain herself no longer. She stepped up behind him soundlessly and leaned down to kiss his neck, sliding her hand inside his tunic.

Torin leaped up and stepped away, startled that this stranger had made such advances and he had not even been aware of her approach. Embarrassed and unwilling to make eye contact, he kept her at his back and tried to explain his reaction. "I…am sorry, milady, but I am happily married. I could never…I love my wife very much," he said awkwardly.

Alessia smiled broadly. She moved up close behind him and slid her arms around his chest, murmuring softly, "And she loves her husband beyond reason."

Torin started at the sound of his beloved's voice. Then his eyes caught sight of her left hand gripping his chest, a sparkling red diamond ring adorning her slender finger. "Alessia!" he gasped, whipping around. "What…what are you doing here? I…" He found himself at a loss for words.

She only smiled at his charming fumbling. "I have not seen you for many weeks, my darling. I thought you would be happy to see me," she said in a mock pout, her sensuous lower lip pushed out.

Torin shook his head, still trying to grasp the situation. "I…I am…of course I am. I've missed you terribly…" he stammered.

"Then why aren't you kissing me?" she challenged him seductively.

"I…but…how did you know I was **here**?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Alessia had grown tired of waiting for him to take her in his arms. So she took matters into her own hands. He would not get off another question, for her lips silenced his. "Later…do not defy your Empress or deny your wife…" she whispered.

"Later…" he agreed at last, pulling her to him, his desire winning the battle over his curiosity.

He lifted her into his strong arms. "Your room or mine?" he asked, a brilliant grin on his face.

She laughed. "I would hate to disturb the Sisters," she said.

"My room it is," he declared.

Then he kissed her again and carried her out to the stable.

* * *

Alessia lay on his chest dreamily caressing him, happy to be back in his arms.

"Less…" Torin started, "What **are** you doing here?" Then, as if awakening from a dream, his own stupidity occurred to him. He had all but forgotten Dibella's promise of aid when Alessia had revealed herself. It had never crossed his mind that **she** was the one Dibella had meant. Torin sat bolt upright suddenly. "No…" he said, shaking his head.

"Torin…" Alessia started, realizing he had finally grasped the situation. She sat up and turned his face to hers. "We **must**. I have been sent to you just as you were asked to come here. This Umaril must be stopped…just as we stopped Dagon…together. No one can defeat us if we are together. The Gods have seen this. They have called upon us to be their champions…to avenge this terrible wrong…to prevent it from happening again. I am here to give you support…in battle…in your faith. I am here to sustain you in every possible way…to help you meet this challenge. You must see this, my love."

Torin took a deep breath. He knew she was right. It was his first instinct to protect her…to see her unharmed at any cost. Yet he had made strides since she had spoken to him of respecting her as an equal. "But…you are Empress…what of the Empire?" he asked with concern.

"I have set aside the Empire in order to save it. Ocato is my Regent and he and the Elder Council will rule until we have ended this scourge. My ancestor, St. Alessia herself, appeared to me, asking me to stand for her in this battle against the dread Umaril…to fight at the side of my chosen champion as she did so many years ago, and to end him once and for all. She said that **you** are my Pelinal **and** my Morihaus, and that I must fly to your side and offer all the support that I can. I have come to you without hesitation, without question. The Empire is in peril if Umaril gets what he wants. I can best help it now by placing it in the hands of another until the danger is passed…until we have crushed the resurrected Elven King. We will be as we were before against Dagon. We will fight at each other's backs. We will drive away the invader…back into the realm of Meridia where he belongs," she told him with the conviction she felt in her heart.

He nodded his acceptance, his heart not as convinced as his logical mind. All she had said made sense, but it did not stop him from fearing for her. He did not doubt that he could use her help. He knew just how skilled she was. But his desire to see her safe was at war with his wish to end the threat that Umaril posed to all of Tamriel. Torin sighed. Tomorrow they would seek out Dibella. Perhaps there was yet a chance to dissuade the Gods…to alter their plan to have the Empress help defend her Empire. He would speak no more of it to Alessia, but his acquiesence was only temporary.

* * *

Dibella appeared before them at the shrine the next day, offering words of inspiration and encouragement for the task that was being asked of them. When she had finished, Torin tried to persuade the goddess that the Empress was needed on the throne.

Alessia knew that he was worried for her. She stepped to his side and took his arm. "Torin, Umaril would see the Gods destroyed. The Divines have given me my life. I owe it to them to risk it now in defense of all that we believe in. In your letter, you asked me to understand why you had to do this. And I do, certainly. But I am asking the same," she chided him gently. Then she turned to Dibella. "I am ready to do all that you ask of me," she announced, a look of determination and courage on her face.

Torin could not help but admire her as he watched her proclaim her loyalty, prepared to face death to protect all that she held dear.

Dibella nodded and turned to Torin. "No, Champion, I cannot grant your request. Your bravery is unquestioned and your concern for the woman you love is duly noted and appreciated, but you cannot yet comprehend what awaits you. Your path will be fraught with trials. It will take much from you and you should not be alone. Nay, you cannot do it alone, as great a man as you are. Your Empress will aid you in this most important of quests. You will need her, though you do not believe it so. Tell us now, will you be our Champion, mortal? Will you pick up the Divine Crusader's mantle and finish what he began?" Dibella asked.

Torin turned to Alessia and gave her a meaningful look.

His wife and Empress returned his gaze with a loving, encouraging smile and slipped her hand in his, nodding her head.

Torin turned back to Dibella. "I will end the scourge that is Umaril…**we** will end him…together," he corrected himself looking back at Alessia and trying to smile.

She clasped his hand tighter, entwining her fingers in his. "It will be as you say. Umaril will fall. We will send the sorcerer King back to grovel at Meridia's feet in disgrace," Alessia vowed, her eyes resolute in their intent.

"Then let it be done," Dibella declared. "Champion, there is one you must speak to who will set you on the path. Close your eyes," she ordered.

Torin dutifully obeyed.

The goddess continued, "He is the one who knows Umaril best, who came closest to defeating him in the time before. He is the Whitestrake, the great one who lost his way in the carnage. I will call him forth."

Pelinal Whitestrake, Torin thought. The name conjured up fear in some, admiration in others, but a conflicted mixture of the two in most. St. Alessia's great general and conqueror that succumbed to bloodlust. His later acts went beyond his duty...and beyond the pale.

"Hail knight!" Torin heard in the near distance. He opened his eyes and was stunned to find he stood seemingly upon a cloud far above Imperial City. It startled him and he lurched as if he would fall. But he did not fall, and quickly realized it was but a vision, as was the great knight approaching him shouting salutations.

"Hail knight! You seek my Relics with a worthy heart! Your need has woken me from my endless dream. Or…perhaps you have entered my dream, and I still sleep. I think others have sometimes called to me…others like you, but my memory is doubtful. Your cause must be great for the gods to allow us to speak," Pelinal said, trying to clear his head of the confusion that clouded his mind after centuries of sleep.

"It is Umaril," Torin replied knowing he need say no more.

"Has Umaril the Accursed found a way back, then?!" Pelinal exclaimed, aghast.

Torin nodded grimly.

Whitestrake shook his head sadly, anger and disappointment marking his face. Then he heaved a great sigh of utter defeat. "The foulest of a foul race. A thousand curses upon his unholy name! I thought I'd won. But I should have known. The Slavemasters are a cunning breed. Umaril found a way to cheat death, as I could not. But...if you would seek for my Relics, I know little that can help you. All that has passed since my death is like mist that my mind cannot take hold of. Yet…perhaps there is something. My friends built a shrine upon the site of my death, where the Elves tormented me in a final act of revenge. It was named Vanua. I can show you where it once stood. Perhaps it is there still and there is something there that may be of use to you. But that is all I know. Now, I must resume my endless sleep. The mist bids me return. Fare thee well, Ser Knight. May the gods grant you to destroy Umaril utterly, as I failed to do," Pelinal bade him good fortune. Then he turned and disappeared into the clouds from whence he had come.

Just as suddenly as he had found himself floating above the capital city, he now found himself abruptly back in front of Dibella, his hand still intimately entwined with Alessia's. He turned to her and said, "I know where to begin." He would tell her the whole of it later, when they were alone.

Dibella spoke again, "The Gods will help you however they can, but this is a battle that you must win, Champion of Cyrodiil, else Umaril will surely see us cast down. The struggle has been foretold. The outcome is yet in doubt."

Torin nodded.

"Follow the Nine and we will guide you," the Goddess said as she slowly faded from sight.

"Come, there is much to do, and I do not know how much time we have to do it," Torin said as he pulled his wife away from the shrine toward the waiting horses.

Alessia stopped him. "I am proud of you…as I always have been," she said with admiration.

He knew what she meant. Torin smiled slightly and sighed. "If it is the Gods' will, who am I to defy their wishes?" he asked.

Alessia gave him a dazzling smile then. "Who are you, indeed? My Champion, my Emperor, my heart. Do not fear for me, my husband. I still remember a thing or two about fighting. We will prevail…**together**, as the Gods intended. And Umaril will be no more," she said.

"I pray you are right, my Empress," Torin answered. He wished he had her confidence.


	31. Chapter 31

31.

"Sleepless Knights"

They made for Vanua, southeast of Imperial City. Alessia shivered involuntarily as they passed Memorial Cave where she had almost lost Torin forever to the vampire curse Seridur had inflicted upon them. The memory of it still haunted her. She remembered her abject fear as he laid in her arms in the Frostcrag Spire vault …fear that he had surrendered to his fate and she might not be able to save him.

As if he sensed her feeling, he took her hand and they rode silently until they reached the spot where Whitestrake had indicated the ancient Ayleid ruin stood. But much time had passed and they saw no ruin…only Lake Rumare with its vicious slaughterfish.

At first, they were disheartened. But then, Alessia looked at him strangely as though a thought had occurred to her. She grabbed one of her daggers and dove into the lake.

Torin began to follow her thinking and smiled at her ingenuity. Less never failed to impress him.

After what seemed an eternity, she surfaced, and with a self-satisfied grin, shouted, "It's here! Torin, the entrance is unblocked and only the lower region of the ruin is submerged!"

"Your resourcefulness knows no bounds, my love," he murmured affectionately.

They gathered their equipment together and waded slowly into the water. They were fortunate the ruin was not far off shore and not at great depth, for their gear weighed heavily on them. But they had no desire to face the razor-sharp teeth of a school of slaughterfish unprotected. And they both knew they would likely run into something in Vanua.

The undead denizens that occupied the ancient ruin offered little challenge to the seasoned adventurers and they were easily able to recover the first of the Divine Crusader's relics…Pelinal's helm. But luck was with them this day, for even more fortunate than the discovery of the helm was that of the diary. Near the relic they found an ancient skeleton, perhaps centuries old, with a journal still clutched in its hands. It turned out to belong to a knight, Ser Amiel, who had himself been questing for the Relics. Ser Amiel! Torin thought suddenly. The Prophet had spoken of his quest! They were assuredly on the right track! They read from the pages:

_This journal is a record of failure. My failure._

_In the immediate sense, this is no doubt obvious. If you are reading this, you are probably standing over my body, slain in the depths of the Shrine of the Crusader. Perhaps the gods granted me the gift of at least glimpsing the holy Helm before I died, undeserving though I am. I must believe that you are indeed a holy knight, following in my footsteps in quest of the Crusader's Relics. It is to you, Ser Knight of my hopes, that I direct these words. May the account of my failures help you avoid my fate._

_Know that my failures encompass far more than my own death (which is of little account, at the end of a long life). The high ideals of the Knights of the Nine, of service to the gods rather than men, of dedication to a higher purpose - these are my failures, as I shall record here._

_As I write this, the scratching of my pen the only sound in the empty Priory, I am preparing to embark on my last quest for the Helm of the Crusader. I know that my chance of success is small. I am too old for such a task. This quest should have been taken up by the next generation of Knights of the Nine, while Ser Caius and Ser Berich and the rest of us stayed behind and spun tales of our days of glory. Alas, there is no next generation. Ser Berich is my embittered enemy, the rest of my old companions are all dead. There is only me, the last stubborn Knight of a failed Order._

_For many years I blamed Ser Berich for the dissolution of the Order, but in my old age I have finally come to recognize my own part in those tragic events. I now believe that the seeds of our destruction were sown early, although the fruit did not ripen until late. Even in the first heady days, questing for the Cuirass with Ser Caius and Ser Torolf, I set the pattern of personal glory. The Cuirass was mine, and although it resided in the Priory, I wore it into battle and accepted the acclaim of my fellows and the people for its recovery. And so it went. The Sword and Greaves, recovered by Ser Berich, became his personal arms, and the Gauntlets to Ser Casimir. Why not? Should the holy weapons lie idle while there was evil to be vanquished? And who more fitting to carry them than the knight who had proved himself worthy by their recovery? So we told ourselves - so I told myself - but all that followed flowed from this._

_When Ser Berich wanted to take his Relics with him to the war, who was I to forbid him? I, who had jealously considered the Cuirass my own and none other's? Ser Berich was wrong, but I was wrong first, and the blame for the dispute over the Relics falls first on me, the leader and founder of the Knights, who should have set a higher example, but was instead first to claim a Relic for my own._

_Ser Berich's later actions I will leave for others to judge. But let it be known that I do not blame him for the dissolution of the Knights. If he would speak to me, I would tell him so myself. He and I are now all that are left of the original Knights. The others are all dead, and I have dedicated myself to recovering their bodies and interring them in the Priory Undercroft, as is fitting for such holy warriors. Alas that they did not have the leader that they deserved._

_Now it is time for me to depart on my quest for the Helm. If you would follow in my footsteps, Ser Knight, know that the Priory basement, at least, will remain inviolate. I have sealed the stairs and only my ring will now open it. My brother knights will sleep in peace, in company with the Cuirass, the only Relic that remains in the Order's keeping. I say that, although the Order is officially dissolved, hoping and believing that the Knights of the Nine will one day be reborn. Perhaps you are the one to restore the Order. If so, go to the Priory in the West Weald. Use my ring to enter the vaults beneath the Priory House. There you will find the Cuirass, and claim it for your own if you are a true knight._

_May the Nine guard and guide you. Farewell._

_ Ser Amiel  
Priory of the Nine  
The West Weald  
County Skingrad  
Year 153 of the Septim Era  
_

The journal spoke of a sad tale of knights of old. A story of honor and loyalty and friendship that decayed into greed and bitterness and betrayal. Of fallen heroes who began with noble ambition and succumbed to human frailty. Of sadness and regret and pride that goeth before a fall. The Knights of the Nine they called themselves. Ser Amiel was their leader. They devoted themselves to the service of the Nine Divines, sacrificing all to follow their beliefs. It was their noble intention to find the Relics of the Divine Crusader Whitestrake to symbolize their order's fight for truth and justice and the teachings of the Nine Divines. But they became obsessed with their own glory and were destroyed by their pursuits. It was a tragic tale indeed, but from the book Torin and Alessia were given a new direction: they had learned the location of the former headquarters of these Knights…the Priory of the Nine in the West Weald. And with this ring of Ser Amiel's they could gain the Cuirass!

"Forgive us, noble knight," Alessia said sadly, her head bowed as Torin respectfully removed the ring from Amiel's finger.

"We will see your vision honored," Torin added solemnly.

* * *

They found it just southeast of Skingrad, near the Elsweyr border. The old Priory still stood after these many years, its abandoned grounds neglected, but otherwise in good repair. It was an unassuming, simple structure with a modest chapel nestled comfortably at its side. Inside, the building was sparsely furnished and dusty, the ancient cobwebs a sign it had long been unoccupied. A search revealed nothing out of the ordinary except a great red diamond painted on the floor adjacent to the dining area. It was the symbol of Imperial Cyrodiil, of St. Alessia herself.

Torin looked at his wife. She nodded. She had been thinking the same thing. They were in the right place and, Torin suspected, this symbol would somehow be the key to the Cuirass.

He pulled out the ring, uncertain what he was supposed to do with it. But as he stepped into the center of the diamond, it began to give way, the floor suddenly parting to uncover a secret stairway into the Priory basement and undercroft. They drew their weapons and warily made their way down the staircase. Then they saw it. On the far side of the room, resting on a dummy…the Cuirass! They grinned at each other. The second relic was within their grasp.

Torin relaxed and walked towards it to claim the prize. Suddenly, an apparition appeared before him, blocking his path.

"By the strength and guidance of the Nine, who comes before us upon this sacred ground seeking the Cuirass of the Divine Crusader? Step forward, adventurer, and face us each in honorable combat. Corrupt the battle not with magic, for we are not sorcerors and would see fair play. Show us your warrior's mettle and prove yourself worthy. For the vows we failed to revere in life, we shall uphold in death. No unworthy soul shall lay hands upon this sacred artifact without the leave of the Knights of the Nine," Ser Amiel said. One by one, eight other spirits appeared to challenge Torin.

Alessia stepped forward then, addressing the apparent leader who had contested their right to take the Cuirass. "No! Valiant knight, hear me! You are making a mistake! We are neither opportunists nor mercenaries here to make our fortunes. We come with a noble purpose…" she started.

One of the other spirits, Ser Torolf, a great bear of a man in life, cut her off, directing his taunt to Torin, "Bah! You hide behind a woman's skirts?!" Then he addressed the leader. "He is not worthy, surely, Amiel!" Torolf insisted.

Alessia whipped her head in the direction of the arrogant knight who had questioned her husband's courage, her brilliant green eyes flashing with angry indignance. "He hides behind no one!" she snapped defiantly. "He is the bravest of the brave! He is hero and savior of Cyrodiil, and now the Gods call upon him for their own defense! He has come to collect the Relics to save us all! I speak to you not just as his devoted wife, but as Empress Alessia Septim of Tamriel," she said, trying to regain her composure after the unwarranted attack on her beloved's character. "I am the **Dragonborn**," she cried. "And I tell you we come with the blessing of the Divines themselves! Cease this hostility!" Alessia ordered.

They gasped at her proclamation, recognizing her proud demeanor as a Septim even if they did not know her. The spirits exchanged confused glances.

Torin had been watching with folded arms, content to let his fiery bride and supremely competent Empress handle this. His eyes shone with pride as he watched her speak so courageously, vehemently defending his honor, and he could not keep a small smile from tugging at the corner of his mouth. She was simply magnificent. Truly, he would never leave her side again…not for adventuring or any other purpose. He shook himself from his reverie. "Hear me Knights of the Nine," Torin said, "It is as the Empress has said. Our cause is just. The Crusader's armor and weapons will be put to great and honorable use as you intended. They are needed to defend Tamriel, not to seek our own glory or fortune. We have already recovered the Helm of the Crusader and were led to the Priory by your journal, Ser Amiel. We are here to reassemble that which Pelinal Whitestrake used to battle **his** greatest nemesis and now our own. We are here to gather the tools we need to, once and for all, strike down Umaril the Unfeathered."

An angry roar went up from the spirits. "Umaril!" "It is not possible!" "No, it cannot be!" They shouted in denial.

"He is here," Torin assured them grimly. "He walks this plane again thanks to his Meridian bargain. He has returned with his Auroran accomplices to threaten all of Tamriel, and has begun to wreak his revenge upon the Divines he so despises," he said.

There was a stunned silence from the long-dead Knights, each absorbing the news in his own way, each considering Torin's words and the duty they had sworn to the Divines so very long ago.

At last Ser Amiel spoke, solemn and sobered by the tidings. "Then these are grave times, indeed. And I am glad you completed the quest that I could not…that my death at least served to lead you here, as I had hoped when I wrote my journal. But it does not change what must be done. If your words are true, it is all the more imperative that you pass our test. For only the worthiest of knights can hope to defeat the Unfeathered. My challenge stands. You will not possess the Cuirass until you have shown you are capable…you will not gain our help until you prove to us that you are the one who is fit to don the Crusader's raiment," he finished.

"No! He is the Champion of Cyrodiil! You cannot expect him to…" Alessia sputtered.

"Then let him prove he has earned the title bestowed on him, that it is an honor fairly won," Torolf grumbled.

Alessia glared at him. "You are nine revered warriors to his one. He is as great in battle as any who have ever fought, but even **he** has limits of endurance. To ask this of him…to fight you all, one after another…where is your sense of honor? Do not speak to me of fair play!" she asked angrily. If he was forbidden to use his healing skills…if he could not even replenish his stamina, it would be a difficult trial, indeed.

Torin stepped up to her and took her shoulders gently. "Umaril knows no fair play. Umaril has no honor. **He** will not give me time to recover. We need their help. We need the relics. I will be alright, my Empress. Did I not defeat the chosen ones of Boethiah? Believe in me," he said softly.

Her eyes welled with frustrated tears. She nodded her acceptance, looking into his eyes. "You know that I do. Never has a woman believed in a man as I do you. Show them. Show them that you are more worthy than any of them **ever** were. Make them believe as I do. Show them, my Champion," she said softly, caressing his face. Then she kissed him.

Torin smiled at her encouragingly as their lips parted. He turned to Amiel. "I accept your challenge. I am ready," he said.

One by one he faced them, defeating them easily at first, but as his fortitude began to fail, the fights grew longer. Each successive warrior was more difficult, both in skill and strength. Torin was panting heavily by the time Torolf stepped before him sneering. Seven before the Nord had been defeated. **Their** respect had been earned. Only Torolf and Amiel remained. Torin bent over grabbing his knees for a few moments as Torolf prepared himself. He glanced over at Alessia's worried face, and seeing it, knew he had to ease her fears. Torin gave her a dazzling smile of confidence and took a deep breath, drawing from his deeper reserve of stamina…the one she gave him. She mouthed the words 'I love you' to him and smiled back at him so brilliantly that it lifted him beyond his own strength. As the Nord approached him arrogantly, Torin charged him, attacking with a fury. The ferocity of the assault stunned Torolf, who had all but dismissed his opponent before the fight had even begun. The great Nord was on the defensive from the outset, blocking constantly with his axe, getting few offensive swings. It was over more quickly than Torin had expected, given the aggressiveness of the great warrior and his own fatigue. He had knocked the spirit to the ground and held his sword to Torolf's throat.

"Yield, Nord. Your skills are great, but I must face Umaril, and I have not the time to spar with you. I should prefer you to be on **my** side," Torin said amicably.

The surprised Knight burst into laughter. "Well done, Champion of Cyrodiil. I stand corrected. You are, by my count, worthy of the Crusader's relics. I will offer what aid I can in your quest against Umaril," Torolf promised.

Torin tipped his head in thanks.

The great spirit knight pulled himself off the floor.

Amiel was shocked by the turn of events. For he, too, had counted the mortal out. "By the Nine, I've not seen such strength. Could you be... no. You cannot. You are simply a noble knight," Ser Amiel decided. "You have stood against the Knights of the Nine and lived. However, the final test is upon you. Ready yourself, Ser Knight, and face **me**," Amiel said.

Torin had gained his second wind now, and knew he would be victorious. He smiled again at Alessia, and she knew, too. She had fought at his side enough to know that he was strong again. He would emerge her Champion.

Amiel was skilled beyond the others, it was true. But Torin was determined beyond skill, beyond strength. He had only one goal in mind and nothing would keep him from it. He must stop Umaril.

At last, Amiel was defeated and yielded.

Alessia threw herself into Torin's exhausted arms and held him. "I knew you could do it. None can stand before you, my Grayrider," she murmured in his ear.

Torin held her as tightly as his fatigued arms let him.

Amiel stepped up to them. "Ser Knight, in three hundred years none have stood against us and lived. Step forward and claim what is yours by right. May your faith be true," the leader of the Knights of the Nine pronounced with great admiration as he led Torin to the Cuirass of Pelinal.

Ser Torolf sheepishly approached Alessia when they had taken the armor. "Empress, accept my apology for misjudging your husband and doubting your words. I am skeptical by nature, but once the truth is set before me, I will defend it to the end. You and your Champion have my loyalty," Ser Torolf promised her, dropping to one knee.

"Rise, Ser Torolf. I accept your apology and your fealty. Now, the focus must be on finding a way to destroy Umaril. In this, we must band together. For you are **all** noble knights, great men only gone astray. You **can** still fulfill your oaths, you **can** still be faithful in your vows to the Divines. Help us now in our search for the relics. Help us to find what we need to put down the Usurper forever! My Champion will defeat him! Believe as I do…as the Gods themselves do. For **they** have set us on this path. **They** believe in Torin Grayrider, and so must **you**!" Alessia spoke inspirationally.

The Knights cheered. Shouts of support rose up and all crowded around to offer their insights and information.

"The original order of the Nine was founded with the intention of safekeeping the Crusader's Relics. In life, we failed at this task. In death, we sought to preserve what little we accomplished while we waited for one such as you to appear and finish what we began. I think that time has come. And…perhaps…if others can be found with your dedication, the Order can be rebuilt," Amiel answered wistfully.

"Ser Berich, who you mentioned in your journal, is not among you now. What happened to him?" Alessia asked, curious at his conspicuous absence from the group of spirits who were otherwise reunited in death.

Ser Amiel sighed with great regret. "One of the mightiest knights of my day. It was a great boost to the Order's prestige when he joined. Unfortunately, he and I did not see eye to eye on certain matters. He left the Order during the War of the Red Diamond, and never returned," he answered sadly.

Ser Caius added, "Alas, that my old comrade is not among us here. We do not know why his spirit did not join us here to guard our last Relic. We were estranged in life, but I had hoped that in death we could be reconciled. For my part, I now know that I am largely to blame for the ruin of the old Order. Ser Amiel takes too much upon himself. But for now…I…will say no more." And he bowed his head in shame and turned away.

Ser Juncan set them on the path of the Boots of the Crusader. They were the province of Kynareth, Goddess of nature, protector of all living creatures. She was also the mother of Morihaus, lover and champion of St. Alessia, the Empress' ancestor and first in the royal Septim line. Alessia could not help but smile when she thought of it as she and her Champion made their way to the next of the legendary relics.


	32. Chapter 32

32.

"Recollecting the Divine Crusader"

They journeyed to the edge of the Great Forest west of Imperial City to an outdoor shrine of Kynareth. There, the priestess of the shrine explained that they must pass a test of Kynareth's choosing to gain access to the Boots. Yet, even she did not know what this test actually entailed. Torin and Alessia glanced at each other uncomfortably. They didn't like not knowing what was being asked of them. They would be going in blind. But they knew that the Goddess was protector of all things natural, and girded with that knowledge, they warily entered the Grove of Trials. Without warning, a massive, powerful bear materialized before them. Slashing and snarling, its mighty claws swiped at them, striking Torin's armor and nearly knocking him off his feet. It was the largest bear either of them had ever seen, almost three times the size of a normal man. Torin instinctively drew his sword to fend off the attack, to defend himself and his wife. Alessia's hands had flown to the hilts of her daggers, as well, when it struck her that this beast, fearsome as it was, was an animal of the forest, and Kynareth would not wish it harmed. She remembered the priestess' words, "heed Kynareth's teachings: fear and respect Nature and all Her Creations." She smiled slightly and dropped her guard.

Torins's eyes grew wide. "Alessia! What are you doing?! Defend yourself!" he shouted.

"No, my love," she returned softly. "Put away your sword. This **is** the test," she said.

He scowled momentarily before he grasped the meaning of her words. Then he sheathed his weapon and lifted his stout shield, leaping to Alessia's side and drawing her to him. He held his shield high to protect them both from the onslaught of the great forest predator. After a few moments, the beast ceased its attack and lumbered away. They grinned at each other. Suddenly, a large boulder rolled away from the wall of stone beside them, allowing them entrance to Kynareth's Grotto. Two Spriggans that appeared to be guarding the Crusader's Boots stepped aside and Torin took the third of the great warrior's relics.

They found Avita Vesnia, priestess of Kynareth's shrine, waiting for them on their return to the Priory. "We meet again," she said respectfully to Torin. "Your Highness," she curtseyed. "You have passed Kynareth's test. I am pleased to see that you have the Boots that Kynareth bestowed upon the world. It is said that the wearer has the blessing of Kynareth upon him, and will not come to harm from creatures of the forest. But let me tell you why I have come. I am here to join your Order, having received a divine vision from Kynareth herself. I have been shown that to protect all Kynareth's creations, I must take up your cause and be willing to lay down my life for you," she said earnestly.

Torin nodded. "We are honored. The cause of the Order is a noble one. Welcome," he responded.

"Thank you. I shall serve to the best of my ability. Now, if you will excuse me, I must change into something that suits a knight," Avita said, moving away.

Ser Ralvas stepped in to take her place. "You have my tribute, Ser Knight. In three hundred years, none have passed the gauntlet. In three hundred years, we have never known hope. But for the first time, it seems that someone may succeed where we have failed. I see in you the chance to redeem our souls and restore the order. And now, I must ask you to press forward where I could not. I was arrogant and foolhardy, seeking personal glory. I placed my own will and my own lust for fame over the will of the Nine. In facing the challenge of Zenithar, I failed. I tried dozens - no, hundreds of times to reach the Mace. I fell each time. And each time I awoke in the chapel, I leapt again. I tried to enlist the help of the other knights, but none would come to my aid. The inscription says to 'walk in the faith'…but…even now, I do not know what this means. I…suppose my faith was weak. I did not understand the test and I fell from the platform each time I tried to cross. Prove yourself more worthy than I," Ralvas pleaded.

"You leapt? I don't understand…" Torin said in confusion.

"You will comprehend when you see it. It is to trust…to believe. If you seek the Mace, travel to Leyawiin's chapel, kneel at the shrine in the undercroft, and let your faith in the Nine be the salvation of us all," he lamented. Then he turned and walked away.

Alessia felt sorry for him.

Amiel noticed the exchange. "After Berich betrayed us, Ser Ralvas journeyed to the Chapel of Leyawiin to attempt Zenithar's test of faith. He believed that with the Mace, he would be able to bring the rest of us together. He tried to reach the weapon again and again, failing each time. He became obsessed with it, refusing food or drink for days. When I finally received word of his quest, I went searching for him. But…I was too late. He had perished from lack of nourishment. Ser Juncan helped me carry his body back here. I failed my friend and I failed Zenithar. Perhaps you can succeed where Ser Ralvas could not and redeem us both," he added sadly.

Torin now wore three of the relics of the Crusader…the Boots, the Cuirass and the Helm. Soon, he hoped to lay claim to the Mace that Pelinal once wielded.

* * *

When they arrived at the Chapel of Zenithar in Leyawiin, they received news that the Great Chapel of Mara in Bravil had been attacked and desecrated by Aurorans just as Dibella's chapel in Anvil had been. Torin grit his teeth in unrestrained anger. Damn Umaril's vicious soul! More innocents murdered because they followed the Nine! More sacrilege in the face of the Divines! His determination deepened and he entered the chapel. Once inside, a young man who fancied himself a potential new Knight of the Nine, Carodus Oholin, gave them the background of the Mace.

"When Pelinal Whitestrake was slain by the Ayleids, a messenger carried the Mace to the human settlement of Leyawiin as a message. Centuries later, the master craftsman Saint Kaladas built the Chapel of Zenithar in Leyawiin as a tribute to the legend. When Saint Kaladas was laid to rest, those who prayed to Zenithar at his tomb began to receive visions of the Mace of the Crusader. Like you, Champion, I am a servant of the Nine. Specifically, of Zenithar. I came here seeking his mace. However, I could not pass the test. I'm just...I'm no crusader. But that doesn't mean that I cannot serve Zenithar. In light of the recent attacks, I've signed on to protect the chapel. I'm fair with a blade and by my honor, I'll serve the Nine in any way I can, Empress," the young man said bravely, his earnestness bringing a smile to Alessia's face.

"We would be glad of any help you can give. I am sure Zenithar is grateful to have such a loyal follower," she told the beaming young man.

They proceeded to the undercroft and Torin knelt at the altar. All at once he found himself on a floating platform surrounded by a black chasm on all sides. In the near distance, he saw another platform and could just make out the mace reverently placed on a stand. But there was no clear way to get to it. The void around him would swallow him if he tried to leap. Torin considered all that Ralvas had told him…how he had failed. And in an instant, he knew what to do. He had to have faith that the Gods would not let him falter. He had to **believe**. With the revelation and his unwavering certainty the Nine would not let him plummet into the unfathomable depths, he stepped out into the empty blackness…and found a bridge suddenly beneath his feet. Another step…and another. He did not fall. In moments, he had reached the Crusader's mace and retrieved it. Suddenly, he found himself back in the chapel undercroft, surrounded by the sounds of battle. Alessia was engaging a group of Aurorans, her daggers flashing wildly. Torin joined the fray, his sword crashing down on the helm of the nearest Auroran. Alessia turned in his direction momentarily as she recognized his unexpected participation, and she offered him a welcoming smile before returning to the matter at hand. At last, the minions of Meridia were put down.

Carodus had assisted them in the fight.

Torin put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "You fought bravely. There is a place for you in the Order of the Knights of the Nine, Ser Carodus, if you so desire," he said.

Carodus was smiling so broadly Alessia thought he would burst with pride. "I will not fail you, Champion, you will see," he said seriously.

"I do not doubt it," Torin replied.

* * *

They returned to the Priory and found two more recruits awaiting them. Two fierce-looking, robust Nords from Skyrim, Geimund and Gukimir, former soldiers of the Legion, pledged their loyalty to the Nine.

Things were clearly excalating now. Alessia and Torin could feel it. Three attacks on chapels of the Divines, though mercifully, they had been able to thwart one of them. But they both knew they must hurry. Umaril would not wait much longer to make his move.

They were discussing the matter with Ser Amiel when Ser Hendrik approached them. "If you are true to the teachings of Julianos, it may be possible for you to find the Shield of the Crusader," he said.

"What do you mean?" Alessia asked.

"When the Order crumbled, I set out on my own. After years of searching, I found the Shield and brought it to Fort Bulwark for safekeeping. With the help of a few trusted friends, I began work to guarantee the Shield's security for all eternity. But I never saw my work finished, for I died defending the fort from those who would take and misuse the Shield. We had begun setting up snares to entangle the unfaithful and protect our sacred charge. It is my hope that the others carried on without me. The fort lies in the southeast of Cyrodiil, near the Black Marsh border. If all went according to plan, it should be very well safeguarded now. But if you will believe in yourself, and use your knowledge wisely, you will pass through unharmed, and the Shield will be yours," the Knight advised them.

Torin nodded. So the Shield was protected by traps and challenges meant to keep all but the most worthy out. He smiled. Perhaps he was not pure enough of heart, but his Alessia was. They would succeed in retrieving the Shield.

* * *

They found Fort Bulwark mired in a nest of conjurers bent on obtaining the Crusader's Shield themselves. Alessia and Torin fought their way through, finally reaching a dungeon which they were surprised to find held a prisoner. Thedret was an adventurer who had come in search of the relic himself. The sorcerers had captured and tortured him in hopes he would reveal what he knew of the Shield and how to recover it…how to defeat the many trials that guarded it. But the stalwart Thedret had stood mute, resisting their efforts to pry loose his tongue. When Torin and Alessia freed him, he fell to his knees before the Empress, "Your Highness, I am grateful for your intercession. I…do not know how much more I could have borne. But I did not want these monsters to claim the Crusader's relic."

"Rise, noble friend. You are a brave man, indeed, to have withheld what you knew to keep the Shield from evil hands," Alessia replied, "I beseech you now, help **us** gain the relic. We need it to defeat Umaril the Unfeathered who has returned from his Oblivion exile." She explained what had happened and how the Knights of the Nine were being reassembled.

Thedret's eyes grew wide. "Umaril! I have heard the stories…but I did not think it would happen…and in my lifetime!" he exclaimed with chagrin, shaking his head. Then he regained his composure and turned to Torin. "You are truly worthy of your reputation, Champion, to have been able to get this far. I will tell you all I know so that you may recover the Shield and defeat Umaril," Thedret said solemnly, "But I would like to aid you in your quest. Allow me to join your Knights and I will prove my value."

Torin nodded. "Your courage in resisting this assault is proof enough of your value. A man's mettle is not only evident in the arc of his sword, but in the strength of his resolve. You are welcome to join us, Ser Thedret," he said, grasping Thedret's arm.

* * *

They returned to the Priory with the Shield in hand, their confidence in their future success growing by the moment. Alessia asked Ser Casimir of the Gauntlets for it was he who knew of their fate, according to Amiel.

"I know where you may find the Gauntlets of the Crusader, for I was the one who lost them," Casimir said. Then, he sighed, and continued. "When the Order fractured, I followed Ser Berich into war, taking the Gauntlets with me. When it was over, I returned to Cyrodiil. I attempted to return to the service of the Nine, but the war had changed me. I no longer had sympathy for the weak, or pity for the suffering. In the brief time I was there, I did more to hurt the Chapel than help it. It was there that I was cursed."

Torin's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, cursed?" he asked.

Casimir dropped his head in shame, and answered, his voice small and weak as he relayed his story, "A beggar who came to the Chapel each day for help tried my patience one too many times. I lost my temper, and struck him. My blow landed harder than I had intended, and he fell to the floor, dead. Killed in the very Chapel of Stendarr, the God of Mercy. I left the Chapel at once, of course, but the damage was done. I was weak, constantly weary, and lacked the energy to do almost anything. As proof of the deed, when I struck the poor man the Gauntlets slipped right off my hands and fell to the floor. Heavier than stone, they would not move. None could lift them. I suspect they lie there still, in Chorrol's Chapel. You must prove to Stendarr you are worthy to lift the Gauntlets once more. Seek out the priests in Chorrol. Perhaps they can help you." He turned away sadly and departed.

Torin and Alessia exchanged glances of concern, wondering how they would defeat this challenge. Then they headed for Chorrol and the immovable gauntlets.


	33. Chapter 33

33.

"Love in the Time of Sacrifice"

The Gauntlets of Pelinal lay on the chapel floor reverently surrounded by candles. Without any real expectation of success, Torin tried to take them, but they wouldn't budge, their weight enormous. It was as Casimir had told them. They sought the assistance of Areldur, a chapel priest.

"Don't you know the story behind them? I'm not, ahh, familiar with all the details, but I know roughly what happened. A great many years ago, a knight of the old Order did something terrible, and the gauntlets just fell off. They dropped to the floor right where he stood, and no one could lift them. It was a sign of the curse placed upon this knight by Stendarr, I think. That curse still lingers on today, in fact. Poor Kellen," Areldur said sadly, shaking his head clucking.

"Kellen?" Alessia asked.

"Oh, why he's a descendant of that very knight from so long ago, your Highness. The curse has affected his family all these years. He suffers from it now. He came here from Hammerfell seeking a cure, but, ahh...well, there's really nothing that can be done for him, I don't think," Areldur said sympathetically.

But Torin noticed the priest seemed uncomfortably reserved, as though he was holding back information.

Areldur continued, almost guiltily, "It's a horrible thing, truly. The Curse of the Consumed, they call it. One cannot help but pity those such as Kellen, who have such a burden placed on them through no fault of their own. But...but if it is the will of the Nine, then there is little that can be done."

Alessia said, "Where is this Kellen? May we speak to him?"

"He has a room in the undercroft," Areldur answered.

Kellen was an unassuming man, thin and frail. "What is it? Is there a cure? Has Areldur found a cure? I know there's something he's not telling me!" he wailed when they approached him.

"We've come to find out more about the curse you suffer from," Alessia said gently, her voice soothing to try to calm the man.

"Ah, so you've heard of it, have you? Terrible curse, been in the family almost longer than anyone can remember, since my ancestor Ser Casimir, damn him! When I was younger, I could live with it…wasn't so bad. But it's only gotten worse over time. I'm wasting away! I'd come here, to the place it all happened, in the hopes that something could be done. I fear I haven't much time left, otherwise. Areldur has let me stay, mostly out of pity I think, but there's something else. I swear he knows more than he tells," Kellen said firmly, his eyes bordering on frantic.

"What makes you think that?" Torin asked, his own suspicions seemingly confirmed.

"I've seen plenty of pity in peoples' eyes over the years. I grew up recognizing it. But with Areldur...there's something else there. And when he speaks to me, there are times I'd swear he sounds...apologetic. Guilty, even. Why would that be? What reason does he have to hold back information? I know I'm a doomed man, one way or the other. Speak to him, if you can. Convince him to tell me what he knows, as a dying man's last wish. I beg you," Kellen pleaded pathetically.

Torin and Alessia confronted Areldur. "We know you are withholding something. Out with it, man! What is it you are not telling us?" Torin demanded.

"I... I cannot face him," Areldur finally confessed, shamefaced. "I know what might be done for him, but I haven't the will to do it. I wish I could help him, truly I do, but I cannot muster the strength to damn myself on his behalf!"

"What are you talking about?" Alessia asked, irritated.

"The curse...I know what would lift it. But…I cannot do it. The only way to free Kellen of his curse is to take it on myself. I am not strong enough to do this, and so, I am a failure. I fail Kellen every time I speak to him, and I fail Stendarr every time I pray to him and do not ask for the power to lift the curse. Do you know one who would do such a thing? One who would pray at this Chapel's altar, pray to Stendarr for the power to lift this curse?" Areldur cried piteously.

Stunned silence engulfed the conversation for a moment, as the Empress and her beloved consort considered Areldur's words and their implication. At last, Torin heaved a great sigh.

Alessia whirled to him, reading his mind. "No!" she practically shouted. "I forbid it!" she ordered imperiously.

Torin offered her a sad, accepting smile meant to give her courage. "We have no choice, my love, you must see that," he said gently, "We must…"

Alessia's demeanor softened and her voice dropped to a whisper, pleading with him, "No…Torin…don't do this! There must be another way…"

"Perhaps. But we do not have time to find it. I think you know this is true, Less. We have to stop Umaril. He will destroy life as we know it. This desecration is only the beginning. If he has his way, the Gods themselves will be torn asunder and we will all be enslaved or worse. He **cannot** be allowed to succeed. I must do this…" Torin said earnestly, his eyes holding hers.

"No, Torin…if…if it must be done, then **I** will do it. It is **my** place to save my Empire…" Alessia said, tears in her eyes.

"Don't you see, my darling? Regardless of my personal feelings, it is **because** you are Empress that you cannot be the one. You are needed to rule the Empire…to be strong and healthy. And what of the heirs to the Empire? Your children…the future Emperor or Empress…they cannot be saddled with this curse," Torin said softly.

Alessia stopped short, taking in his words. "But…you are my **husband**. My children will be **yours**…" she stammered, before the truth of his meaning dawned upon her. And she was devastated.

He gazed at her with all the love in his heart, even as he felt it breaking in his chest. For he knew that he had made love to her for the last time. Once he took on this terrible curse, he dare not risk making her with child. He could not bear the thought of the bane passing on to his son or daughter. Torin tilted his head slightly, enough that the sad reluctant refusal in his look could be grasped. "I love you, Alessia. I will love you until the day I die. But I cannot…I **will** not father your children. They must be free of this as you will be. But I must do this thing now, or there will not be an Empire left to rule. You see this, don't you?" the Champion asked his Empress.

But Alessia found she could not speak for the grief that she felt at that moment…for the profound sorrow at the thought of never being with him again, of never bearing his child.

Torin smiled at her as bravely as he could, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that streamed down her face. Then he gathered his courage and stepped away from his wife…the only woman in the world he would ever love…and knelt, praying at the altar in the Chapel of Stendarr, knowing if he did not do it then, he might never.

Kellen was ecstatic to hear there was hope for him…that another was willing to give up his own health, and eventually his own life, to save a stranger. Alessia turned her tear-stained face away from the beleaguered man when Torin laid hands on him and took on the curse. It was not his fault, of course, yet she could not help but feel angry at the man's elation. She and Torin would forever pay the price for his freedom. It was only when she heard Torin's suppressed groan that she turned back to see his face contorted in pain as he fell to his knees. She rushed to him, gathering him in her arms, murmuring soft, comforting words into his ear as his body absorbed the curse meant for Casimir's descendants. "Torin…Torin…I love you…I love you…no matter what curse, what disease has taken you from me, I will always love you," she whispered softly in his ear as he struggled to adjust to his new state. She glared angrily at Kellen as he raved, oblivious to their suffering.

"I feel good. I feel GOOD! I don't feel like death! I feel like... running! Look at me! Ha! Ha! Ha! I can't believe it! I feel normal!" Kellen shouted gleefully. Then he noticed what had happened to the man that had taken his pain from him and was mortified. "Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me! I know what you've done to free me from this curse. I don't claim to understand why you'd take it on yourself, but I am eternally grateful. It means more to me than I can say. Now, I think I need to start living my life. I'm going to get out of here and see the world. Thank you, friend." And he departed the undercroft, leaving Alessia holding a shadow of the man she loved in her arms.

A few hours later, Torin was strong enough to walk. A lesser man might have taken days to recover the strength he would need to continue, but Torin was no ordinary man. He had tried casting spells to fortify his stamina…to boost his strength. But the effects were limited and did not last. This curse was powerful indeed. He would have to learn to live with it…as long as it let him live.

A distraught and amazed Areldur greeted them when Torin lifted the gauntlets that had lain on the floor of Stendarr's chapel for so many years. It was clear to him what had happened. "I can't believe you were willing to do that for Kellen. To sacrifice your own well-being without hesitation..." he said in awe of the sacrifice Torin had made. Then his face suffused with shame. "What business do I have acting as a priest if I'm not willing to do all I can in helping those who need it? Perhaps I need to re-think my calling. Tell me you will let me make up for weakness. Let me join the Knights and help you fend off Umaril," he begged.

An exhausted Torin nodded.

"I'll meet you at the Priory in a week after I have gathered my things! You won't regret this!" he exclaimed. And the excited former priest ran off to begin his new life and try to redeem himself.

As Torin took the gauntlets solemnly from the chapel, Alessia slipped her hand in his forlornly and they headed back to the Priory.

* * *

They made the trip back in relative silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts, each weighing the consequences of what Torin had done. Alessia tried to embrace him the first night of the journey…to hold him close as she had ached to do all day.

He held her only briefly before prying himself loose and kissing her forehead tenderly. His uncharacteristic resistance alarmed her and she pulled his lips to hers then and kissed him passionately…fearfully.

Torin lingered for a moment in her soft, warm lips, savoring the taste of her…the memory of her kisses, of their lovemaking…wishing it was not as it was. But he reluctantly freed himself from her grasp at last. "I…we cannot. I would give anything were it not so. But this affliction must not be passed on. We…cannot be together. Surely, you see it is true?" he asked.

Alessia looked at him, grieved. "Is this how it will be between us now? You are unable to kiss me? To touch me? To even hold me? You are my husband…the man I love. I do not know how I can live like that," Alessia said, tears in her eyes.

Torin sighed wearily, the debilitating fatigue that ate at him constantly now only partially to blame. He had thought of nothing else since they had learned of the curse…what to do about Alessia? He knew what should be done…what he **must** do. But it pained him so greatly, he had pushed it to the back of his mind, unable to bear the reality. Now, she was forcing the issue, and he could not pretend everything would be alright any longer. "Nor should you have to," he replied softly.

Alessia frowned then, discomforted by the ominous tone in his voice.

"You deserve a man who is free to love and care for you…to give you children, heirs to the Empire. I…can no longer be that man. Perhaps we should begin talking about divorce," he said, trying not to choke on his own words.

Alessia was stunned. Her face registered the shock and pain she felt at his unintentionally callous suggestion.

Torin cursed himself silently for his bluntness. He intended to be more sensitive in broaching the topic…to make it less hurtful. But she had pressed him and he had blurted out the hated idea that had haunted his thoughts these last hours since he had saved Kellen and cursed himself.

She could hold back the tears no longer. But there was fury in her voice when she spoke to him now. "So, just like that, you cast me aside?! With no thought to my feelings? For what **I** want? Is it really so easy to throw me away when we can no longer be intimate?" she hurled at him angrily, "Do I matter so little to you that you could speak to me of divorce as though it were nothing?!"

Torin felt his frustration rise. "You know that is not the case, Less. You **know** how much I love you, but this situation is untenable…" he began, defending himself.

"So you just give up?! On me? On us? That is not the man I married…not **my** Champion. He would **fight** to keep us together. **My** Torin would not admit defeat so quickly!" Alessia snapped, her eyes shining with tears and fire.

Torin was exasperated. "Do you not think I would fight for you?! Alessia, I would fight to the **death** to save what we have! But tell me, who do I fight?! Who can I slay that this terrible curse will be taken from us? I am but a simple warrior. Tell me! Tell me how I can fight this and I will do it! Damn it, Less, what else can I do? I only want you to have a chance at happiness…" he argued plaintively.

"And you think **this** is the way to do it?! To take the one thing I love most in this life? The only man I have ever loved…**will** ever love…from me? Do you not understand me at all? Did you learn nothing from the last time we were separated? I **want** no one else! Do not speak to me of happiness when your leaving is the very instrument of my despair!" the Empress lamented.

He gave her a long anguished gaze before he spoke again. "I believe the greatest disservice I could do to the woman I love would be to knowingly give her children that bore a horrible disease just to satisfy my own desires. To ask her to watch her own child wither away in suffering…how could I do that to you and still claim to love you?" he asked softly, his grief evident on his anguished features.

Her rage quieted then, as she recognized the truth of his words.

Torin continued gently, "If you were any other woman, Alessia, I would consider the discussion of not having children, though it would break my heart to do so. But you are the Empress of Cyrodiil, ruler of all Tamriel. Your children will rule after you, just as wisely and fairly as you have done. It is not an option for you. You are the last Septim. You **must** produce an heir to the throne if it is possible. It is your duty…just as it is mine to step aside if I cannot be the father," Torin said, lowering his head. "You know I speak the truth, my beloved," he continued, his heart in his throat, "The only honorable thing to do is to divorce you so that you may remarry and have children safely."

Alessia did not speak. Trapped. They were trapped. There was no other word for it. He was right…about everything…but she could scarcely accept the cold, hard logic of it. She only knew that her heart was breaking and there was nothing either of them could do about it. She gazed at the husband she adored for a long moment before she dropped her head and nodded slowly in defeat.

* * *

They spoke little after that, maintaining a careful distance lest they be caught up in their own barely restrained passions. Each suffered their own special torment, locked into a situation that was not of their making.

But as much as she tried to be understanding, deep down, Alessia could not help but feel betrayed that Torin had chosen this…that he had set them on this hellish path down separate roads. He had not even **tried** to find another way. Surely the Gods had not meant for them to suffer this fate! It hurt her that he had shown almost no hesitation in accepting this destiny for them both, dismissing her protests, effectively sentencing them both to a lifetime of misery. And she found herself resenting the brashness she had always found so charming in him, knowing all the while his sacrifice was a noble one…that he was a good man with good intent and did this only because he felt he had to. But he had not just sacrificed his physical well-being, he had forfeited **her**. He had given **her** up, and she had to fight to swallow the bitterness that welled up in her. Could he not have made an effort to find another way? She had felt his restlessness of late, had sent him off to get it out of his system before he returned to her. Had he decided to return to his old life? Was that why he gave her up so seemingly easily? No…he had simply felt the urgency of the situation with Umaril so close. Without pausing to truly consider the consequences, he had sacrificed himself…and in the offing, made their love for each other a casualty of war. His reckless brand of heroism had cost them everything. She gazed at her husband as they rode nearer to the Priory, her conflict raging within her. He looked as forsaken as she felt. Pity rose up in her suddenly for what he must be feeling…for the physical suffering as well as the emotional toll all this must be taking. Could she really blame him for this? Was it not Umaril who truly deserved her wrath? She knew, for all her frustration, that his heart was true…to her and to Tamriel…that he was only trying to help save countless lives…to honor the Gods as they had asked. Alessia felt shame creep over her. He **was** her Champion and had always been. And he was the **people's** Champion. He had given all that he had to spare them Umaril's retribution. It was just that she could not bear to think of her life without him. She had tried that once before and it had been terrible. Alessia sighed woefully. Why did she have to turn out to be Martin's sister…a Septim? She was blissfully happy when she was ignorant of her birthright…an unclaimed orphan adventurer who had fallen hopelessly in love with a bold and daring colleague, noble of heart and spirit. But now she was Empress and there was no avoiding her duty, no escaping what must be done. Torin had made the decision for them, but it was the right thing to do, and he was strong enough to make it. For she was not sure she could have. Alessia accepted that he had done what he had to, that he had done his duty as she would now. But she would not grant him his divorce. She had thought about it all the way back. No, there would be no divorce…not yet, anyway. Not while there was still a chance…she was young still, with many childbearing years still ahead of her. If they could defeat Umaril and save the Empire, then she would set about finding a way to cure him. She would not accept that there was no hope. She would keep him at her side…even though he could not be with her. He would stay, helping her and loving her even though they dare not touch. She could not give him up…not again…not if it were humanly possible. Alessia smiled then, remembering his words to her. Now it was her turn to move heaven and earth. She would make it possible for them to be together again. It was only a question of how and when. Alessia **would** find a cure for him. The Empire would yet see **his** children on the throne!

It was a relief for both of them when they finally reached the Priory, longing for the distraction of others and the quest to ease the nearly unbearable sexual tension that had risen between them. The night before, Alessia had confronted Torin, her chin proudly held high in absolute determination. Torin had noted with amusement how like an Empress she looked then…strong and courageous, unyielding in her resolve. Flickering light from the fire illuminated her beautiful face as she laid down the law. "I will not give you a divorce. Do not try to obtain one. I am Empress and I will not permit it," she said imperiously.

Torin frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off.

"You are my husband, and I love you beyond reason. I vowed to myself after Vaelor that I would never let you go again, for any reason, as long as you still loved me. We will find a cure for you after we have defeated Umaril, and long before I am unable to bear children. We will be together again, my love, and the heir to the Empire will be **your** child. I will not give up on us, and I will not allow you to either," she commanded.

She spoke so matter-of-factly, with such certainty that his irritation vanished, replaced by admiration and pride. Unable to help himself, he burst out laughing. "So, my Empress, you have it all worked out, eh? You will not allow us to be separated again," he confirmed, a sparkle in his eye.

Alessia allowed herself a small smile. "Your Empress has spoken. You will obey me. If you attempt to leave, I will have you hunted down and brought back to me. You are mine…I will not let you go," she said authoritatively. Then, her stoic fortitude failed her and she pleaded, "Oh, Torin, please. Dibella said that our greatest strength was the bond we share…that we should let nothing come between us. And she was right. We **are** better together. I **need** you. And…as long as you love me, I…I cannot let you go. I am young and we will find the answer before it is too late… together. You **will** be the father of my children. I believe that! I beg you to believe it, too!"

He gazed into her sincere eyes and wanted to believe her. Perhaps…perhaps they could still find a way. "You are impossibly stubborn, Alessia. And impossible to say no to. We will try it your way, my beloved Empress," Torin said, a small smile curling his handsome lips. He thought she would cry with relief then, as her eyes welled with tears of gratitude. But she drew herself up with regal pride and swallowed her emotion.

"You won't regret it, my love. I will do all that I can to make you happy. My best physicians will work tirelessly to heal you. I will send for the best mages and alchemists. No stone will be left unturned. We **will** find a cure, and we will not be apart, you will see," she said breathlessly. Then she had kissed him, releasing him quickly before they were both carried away.


	34. Chapter 34

34.

"Strength In Weakness"

They entered the Priory courtyard as a young man came rushing out to greet them. Torin recognized him as Lathon, the young squire of Ser Roderic, a fellow relic hunter.

"Champion! Thank Arkay you're back. I have terrible news. Ser Roderic... I think he's dead!" the fellow blurted out.

"What happened?" Torin asked, dismounting from his tired stallion.

"At first things were going well," Lathon said. "Ser Roderic prayed at all the shrines, and received a vision. A disturbing vision. 'The shade of Ser Berich spoke to me,' was all he said. 'We must put him to rest.' We travelled back and forth across Colovia. He was always asking about an old noble family, the Vlindrels. Finally, he found what he was looking for. We went to Underpall Cave, and there... he fell," the young squire said sadly, lowering his head. "I…I owe him my life. He faced the evil wraith of Lord Vlindrel, and told me to run. And...I did. I know I should have stayed with him. Perhaps together we could have destroyed that evil thing," he added guiltily.

Alessia stepped up, thinking they might be onto the next relic. "What was Ser Roderic looking for?" she asked gently.

"He said that Ser Berich's tomb was in Underpall Cave. He had learned that Ser Berich Vlindrel had once been a questing knight, like us. He had found the Greaves and Sword of the Crusader, but then turned to evil. Ser Roderic hoped to find the Relics within Ser Berich's tomb. And he did. But we also found a terrible guardian - the wraith of Lord Vlindrel…Ser Berich, himself!" Lathon said humbly, still feeling the burning shame of leaving Ser Roderic to fend off the spirit alone.

"So you know where the Relics are?" Alessia asked, her hopes rising.

"Yes, milady. And I brought you...the Greaves. The holy Relic. Ser Roderic shouted for me to take them. They're yours," he said, handing them to his Empress and dropping to a knee.

"And the Sword? What happened to it?" Torin pressed. By the Gods, they were close now!

"The wraith. It used the blade against Ser Roderic. I don't know how that evil thing could use the holy weapon, but it did. It screamed as it struck..." Lathon stopped, visibly shaken by the memory.

"Take it easy, son. You're safe now. Do not blame yourself because there are forces out there that are beyond your abilities. Your master told you to go and you obeyed. It is nothing to be ashamed of. And you rescued the Greaves which are sorely needed. We will take it from here, Lathon," Alessia said soothingly, touching the lad's shoulder.

The young squire calmed noticeably, and Torin felt his heart skip a beat. His eyes studied her with loving admiration. How could he think of leaving such a woman? Strong and courageous in battle, but gentle and warm in comfort. No, he had been an impetuous fool to speak of divorce so soon, to say such a thing without pursuing other roads. He could no more leave her now than he could slay her. He would stay with her as long as he could, as long as she wanted…until he had perished or she must bear a child. And they would make it work, even if they could not touch one another. As difficult as it would be, they would make it work…and hopefully, find a cure. Lathon's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I'm sorry. I've already failed Ser Roderic once. I don't want to fail him again. I remember he said something about the Sword, before we...he was worried that the Sword may have been turned to evil. That it may have to be re-consecrated on the altar of its creator, the divine Arkay. That's all I remember. I hope it may help you," Lathon said.

"Thank you, Lathon, you have been a great deal of help. And now, we need only one more relic to be able to face Umaril. This Sword of the Crusader is all that is left," Torin said.

"Thank you, milord. I…would ask a boon, if I could, although…I…know I do not deserve it," Ser Roderic's squire said humbly. "I…I should like very much to redress my failure, to avenge Ser Roderic's death and help you to defeat Umaril," he said hopefully.

Alessia glanced at Torin and he nodded. "Rise, Ser Lathon, Knight of the Nine," the Empress said, smiling.

The young man beamed. "I will not fail you, Your Highness…Champion," he promised, nodding his gratitude to them both. Then he ran off to gather his gear.

Torin and Alessia found another recruit waiting for them in the basement. Sergius Turrianus was a friend of Ser Thedret's and a fine blacksmith. He swore his fealty to the Knights, to keep them prepared at all times, their weapons sharp and their shields strong. The Knights of the Nine were now eight strong.

They continued to the undercroft to gain any new information they could. Ser Amiel had heard of Lathon's tale and spoke to them, "It seems that Berich fell further into evil than even I had feared. I have no doubt that it all began on the day that he left the Order with the Sword and Greaves. Ser Caius tried to stop him. They fought, and Ser Berich slew Ser Caius with the holy Sword, on the Priory steps," he said, shaking his head grievously. "That was the end of the old Order. Many of Ser Berich's friends left with him. I tried to hold the rest together, but it was no use. If you destroy the wraith that Ser Berich has become, you will be doing him a service. You must free him from the evil that has ensnared him."

Ser Caius added his own guilt to the tragic tale, "Alas that the evil begun on the day of my death should have struck so deep! When Ser Berich said he would take his Relics with him to war, and would not listen to Ser Amiel's pleas, I allowed my anger to get the best of me. Know that **I** was the one who drew weapon first against Ser Berich. He merely defended himself, and proved the better swordsman. And now, because of me...evil has claimed his very soul."

"We will reclaim it, Ser Caius. And in so doing, we will gain the last of the Crusader's Relics. Then, Umaril will meet his final fate," Torin said grimly.

* * *

Lathon led them to Underpall Cave, which was not really a cave at all, but the buried ruins of an old keep. "Ser Roderic believed that it used to be the ancestral seat of Lord Vlindrel, before some cataclysm buried it beneath the earth," the young squire-turned-knight told them.

Lathon guided them through the meandering tunnels, fighting off the small bands of hostile undead that still inhabited the place. Torin was unexpectedly impressed with the young man's skills. Ser Roderic had taught him well. Perhaps he might be useful in the battle to come after all.

Finally, they reached the spot where the questing knight had fallen. Lathon fell to a knee, overcome by sorrow. "Ser Roderic... you were a brave knight and a good master. Long may your name be remembered in the annals of the Relics," he said softly, his head bowed. Then, the young knight stood up proudly. Alessia noted he seemed taller, stronger than he had before, as though he had thrown off the weight that had saddled him. He nodded to them, "Follow me. Lord Vlindrel's tomb is just through here. Be careful... the wraith may be upon us at any moment," he warned.

Suddenly, a deep and fearful voice boomed, "Who dares enter my tomb and disturb my slumber?! Are you yet more foolish adventurers who seek to take what is mine?! To rob my resting place?!"

They whirled to find themselves face to face with Ser Berich Vlindrel's wraith.

Torin placed his hand on his sword, but made no attempt to draw it from its sheath. He held up a hand for the others to stand down. "It is true we have come for the Crusader's Sword, Ser Berich. But we are no common adventurers. I have come with the Empress of Tamriel, and a Knight of the Nine, your Order…" Torin began.

Berich's ghostly eyes flashed at that last description. "I am Knight of the Nine no longer! Treachery and betrayal! Jealousy and greed! They sought to take what was **mine**, what was rightfully **earned**, just as you do now!" he hissed menacingly.

Alessia stepped forward now, her Septim blood taking charge as naturally as if she had ruled a hundred years. "Hear me, Ser Berich Vlindrel! I am the Dragonborn! I am a Septim, descendant of Talos and St Alessia herself before that! You will heed my words!"

The startled spirit looked confused for a moment as though struggling with some inner demons. Torin suspected Amiel was right, that something had taken hold of Ser Berich. Perhaps he was redeemable after all.

"We are here because the Empire is in great peril from Umaril the Unfeathered! He returns to destroy the Gods…to destroy us all! We need the Crusader's relics to defeat him. We have all but Pelinal's Sword. You were a brave and true knight once, honorable and loyal to your Emperor. Help us now! Give us the weapon we need to vanquish the Meridian devil!" she pleaded.

The turmoil Berich felt was evident, his conflict marking his face. He looked at Torin, who wore the raiment of the fallen Crusader. "You…wear the armor…you must be an exceptional man, indeed, to have successfully claimed it all. None of us were able to…perhaps…" And then, like a veil dropping over his features, the evil took him again. "But no, it is a trick! Umaril is long dead, the great Crusader his conqueror! It is blasphemy to speak otherwise! Amiel sent you to steal my Sword, didn't he?! He was jealous! Always so jealous! He wanted what was mine, and when I would not give it up, Caius made me kill him! Damn Amiel! You will all pay for his crimes!" Berich shouted raising the Crusader's Sword high in the air and bringing it down violently towards Torin's head.

The Champion of Cyrodiil had no time to react. A mere week before he would have raised his shield in time, blocking the blow, drawing his own sword and thrusting it into his foe. But damn this curse! All his reflexes were slowed. It was as though he had not slept for a week. His body felt sluggish, unable to respond quickly to his mind's screaming commands. Instead of striking at his enemy, he barely had time to shove Alessia aside and roll away from the corrupted blade as it hissed past his ear, nearly cleaving him in two.

But Alessia was not so hindered. She had already drawn her daggers and was striking at the wraith, her reflexes superior to his now. He paused for a moment to catch his meager breath, unable to take his eyes off her magnificent form as she assaulted Berich in her classic hit-and-run strategy. She was lightning fast still, he noted, in spite of her being on the throne these many months. She had not lost her talents, nor her fire, Torin thought proudly. Lathon threw himself into the fray now, swinging his sword with no small skill. Torin drew a deep breath to find his reserve of stamina and charged in with his allies.

When it was over, the wraith was gone and Torin stood panting weakly. Alessia thought her heart would break to see her strong, invincible Champion struggling so, just to breathe. It was the first fighting they had done since he had taken the curse onto himself and it had affected him greatly. And she was worried about what was to come. She picked up the Crusader's Sword and handed it to him, an understanding smile on her face.

Torin nodded grimly. His thoughts ran to the same troubling idea that hers had. How could he possibly hope to defeat the dreaded warrior Umaril in his current state? Had he been alone that day, he was fairly certain Berich would have bested him, and he would not have lived through it. And his wife had thought the same thing. He had seen it in her eyes - compassion…and concern.

"Ser Roderic is avenged! And you have recovered the Sword of the Crusader!" Lathon shouted with childlike enthusiasm. "But it is tainted still. We must take it to the chapel of Arkay in Cheydinhal and have it blessed," he said excitedly.

"Lathon, go back to the Priory and tell the men to get ready. It is time we took the fight to Umaril himself. Torin and I will go to Cheydinhal to get the blade consecrated once more," Alessia ordered.

Lathon looked like a chastised puppy. "But I thought…we were a team…you might need me again," he protested weakly.

Alessia realized she had injured him. "Lathon, thank you for your help. You did well here today and we couldn't have done it without you. But now we need you to oversee the plan to attack Umaril. We need to make sure the Knights are ready to face Umaril when we return. We need them trained, rested, equipped, and battle-ready. Will you take on this critical task? Can your Empress and your Knight-Commander count on you?" the Empress asked him gravely, hoping to instill some confidence in him. It would be needed soon.

Lathon puffed up with pride. He had been assigned a task of great importance and he would not fail them. "Yes, Your Highness, it will be done! You can depend on me!" he vowed. Then he turned and took off at a rabbit's pace.

Torin could not help but laugh. "You are a born leader of men, my love! They are putty in your hands…as is your husband," he said, smiling and taking her in his arms.

Alessia threw her arms about his neck. "Remember that when next I ask you for something," she murmured coyly. And for a moment they forgot. But then awareness returned, and with an awkwardness that had not marked their interactions since first they met, they released each other and headed for Cheydinhal.

* * *

They arrived at the Chapel of Arkay to find it under attack by Aurorans. Between the city guard and the Empress and her Champion, the foul assault was put down without any innocents being killed and no desecration to the structure. But Alessia could see that it had taken a great toll on her hero and husband. They stayed that night at the cozy little cottage in Cheydinhal that she loved so much. Torin stood at the fireplace, distractedly gazing at the flames, his somber thoughts closed to her. But she suspected. He looked beyond tired. He looked discouraged…almost defeated…something she had never seen in him before. For a brief flashing moment, she hated Ser Casimir for the cold, cruel arrogance that had created this curse. And then, as if by divine hand, it occurred to her why **she** had been sent to accompany Torin on this most important of quests. It wasn't her formidable skill with blade and bow. It wasn't that they fought so well together. It was her **love** for him…the strength she gave him. It was her absolute certainty that he could do anything…that no one could defeat him. Her unshakeable faith, her unwavering belief…complete and total…in **him**. Because he was beginning to doubt himself. She had seen it in his eyes…a haunting uncertainty starting to creep in. He was beginning to believe that maybe… because of this terrible affliction that ate away at him…maybe he **wouldn't** be able to defeat Umaril. And if he lost faith in himself, Umaril **would** destroy him. By the Gods, it was all so clear to her now! She thought back on what Dibella had said to Torin, "…you cannot yet comprehend what awaits you. Your path will be fraught with trials. It will take much from you and you should not be alone. Nay, you cannot do it alone, great a mortal as you are. Your Empress will aid you in this most important of quests. You will need her, though you do not believe it so." She shook her head to herself. No! She would not let him doubt. He was the greatest man she had ever known. He would not fail. The Gods believed it and she did, too. Alessia walked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her head against his back rapturously as she held him. He placed his hands over hers, caressing them absent-mindedly. "You will not fail, my love. I know it is so, even if you have doubts. You have only to believe in yourself as I do. You are Champion still," she said softly, confidently.

Torin turned to face her, taking her by the shoulders, almost irritated by her blindness to the truth. "How can you say that? You saw how pathetically I fought. My movements are slow. I am winded easily. There is no power behind my sword anymore. I am…weak. I am no champion," he said dejectedly, releasing her abruptly.

Her eyes lit up with anger, flashing at him as she spoke. "No! You don't get to do that! You don't get to feel sorry for yourself after you did this to me, to **us**! You **chose** this, and…it was the right thing to do. But you cannot decide, now that it is done, that you are unable to do the thing that made you take this wretched curse on in the first place. You are stronger than that, Torin, braver than that," she chastised him, more harshly than she meant to.

Her sudden ire startled Torin.

His stunned, injured look made her soften her approach, her anxiety and frustration spent. "I know you think me a fool for believing in you still, in spite of how this hateful affliction has affected you. But do you think the Gods fools? They chose you as their champion because they knew you would not falter. They believed in you and I have faith in you still. You are not only strength and courage, sword and steel, my darling. You are intelligence and daring, cleverness and strategy. What you have lost in physical stamina, you will make up for in resourcefulness. Where you relied mostly on your weapons and strength, you will resort to magic and cunning. You will not fail because we all need you to succeed…the Gods, the people of Tamriel, your Empress and wife…we are depending on you and we all know you will not fail us. But most of all, **I** know. I have always known. You are **still** my Champion. You always will be," she said emotionally, unable to stop the tears from welling in her eyes as she held his.

In that moment, he was reborn, his heart lifted, his confidence revived. To have a woman such as this believe in him without reserve, without hesitation…it was impossible not to feel invincible…unstoppable. He took her face in his hand. "Alessia," he whispered, pressing his head against hers, "It is **you** who gives me strength…**you** that will see we succeed. With you at my side, how **can** I fail?"

She smiled broadly, her shining eyes glittering in the firelight. Dibella was wise, indeed. The Empress had played her most critical part in this drama. She had helped her husband, Knight-Commander of the Knights of the Nine, through his moment of weakness. Now, he would lead them to victory.

* * *

"Lord Crusader! The Prophet is here - he's just arrived! He seemed to know you were coming...told me to wait for you. And here you are! Come. He is preaching to the assembled Knights in the chapel. You should speak to him at once," Ser Thedret shouted to Torin as he ran out to greet the returning Champion riding into the Priory courtyard.

The Prophet was in the midst of an inspiring sermon when Torin and Alessia entered the small chapel adjoining the Priory.

"... you knights, as the embodiment of the might of the Nine Divines, shall go forth together to face The Unfeathered. And he shall be cast down from on high, his wickedness scattered to the wind. He shall end his days as dust in the void. Go now, knights. Face the beast. Fear not death, for the Nine shall be your shield, and they shall bring you to rest should you fall," the Prophet exclaimed.

The chapel emptied out, his knights nodding their greetings and congratulations on the completion of the Crusader's relics as they left. But one man, a stranger, remained behind and stood to meet Torin. "Ser Knight, allow me to introduce myself. I am Brellin of Silvenar, at your service. I come to offer myself as a knight in service of Auri-El, or Akatosh as he is known in Cyrodiil. I bring nothing but my skill with the blade, which is not inconsiderable, and my devotion to the Lord Auri-El. Will you accept me, as unworthy as I am?" the man asked humbly.

Torin said, "All who would fight nobly in service of the Divines are welcome."

Brellin bowed, "I am honored to join the Order under your illustrious command, Champion." Then, he departed to make himself ready for the battle to come.

The Prophet walked up to Torin. "Your body would betray you now. The Curse of the Consumed is heavy upon you. But you have stepped from the humble shadows of obscurity and into legend. No feat you have accomplished in your life compares to what you have become. You are an embodiment of Pelinal Whitestrake, the bane of Umaril the Unfeathered. The time has come for you to fulfill your destiny. Umaril lies hid in the ancient fane of Garlas Malatar. You must go there and destroy him," the Prophet directed him.

"I am ready then? To face the Unfeathered?" Torin asked.

"No. Should you face Umaril, you would suffer the same fate as Pelinal. But times change and even the shape of the divine itself must change with it. Where once there were Eight, now One more stands with them, and they have become Nine," the old man said.

"Talos," Alessia said matter-of-factly.

"Aye," the holy man said, nodding to the Empress, "With the apotheosis of Tiber Septim, the face of the divine was transformed. Talos ascended and the Eight became Nine. So, although you wear the armor of the gods, it is incomplete - a relic of the old ways and the old Gods."

Torin frowned. "How do I destroy Umaril, then? What must I do?" he asked perplexed.

"As a proven guardian of this realm and a warrior the likes of which have not been seen in millenia, Talos grants you his sacred Blessing. With the ancient gifts of the Eight, and the new gift of the One, you are ready to face Umaril," the Prophet said.

"What does the Blessing do?" Alessia asked, puzzled how this one extra piece might prove the difference…how Torin would succeed where Pelinal failed.

He turned to Torin. "It will allow you to follow Umaril into the spirit realm upon his death. It will allow you to destroy him, body and soul, utterly and for all time. You must first kill his living body. While beyond the power of most mortals, this is only the lesser of your two tasks. His Daedric nature allows his spirit to escape into Oblivion after death. This is what Pelinal learned upon defeating Umaril the first time. But you can do what Pelinal could not. The Blessing of Talos will allow you to follow Umaril's spirit when it leaves his body. This you must **do**, and you must not fail. You will not, because the Nine fight with you. Go now and fulfill your destiny. You are ready, and the Nine walk with you," the wise man said, his hand on Torin's shoulder.

* * *

The others had gone ahead to make camp on a bluff overlooking the ruin of Garlas Malatar at the edge of the Gold Coast on The Abecean Sea. Torin had intentionally held back, wanting to spend his last night with his beloved wife alone. They fought to stay awake, to hang on to this strangely distant intimacy that engulfed their lives now. Not wanting to sleep, yet knowing they must, exhaustion finally claimed them.

The sun rose on them and they packed up their gear and rode to join their Knights and meet their fate. They had not told the others he was consumed by the curse. It would not do to have their confidence in their leader shaken before this great battle which they could not afford to lose. Only Areldur, who had been there, knew what had happened. They had asked him to say nothing, and he had agreed sheepishly, his own shame sealing his tongue. For his part, he still believed in the Champion.

So here it was at last, Torin thought, standing on the bluff overlooking the ancient structure. Garlas Malatar. Stronghold of the Meridian Aurorans. The final confrontation with Umaril himself. He thought of Alessia and swallowed hard. As if she had read his thoughts, she was there suddenly, at his side, slipping her hand into his. She said nothing, but her touch told him 'You will not fail.' He smiled confidently and squeezed her hand. Then he turned to his Knights and said, "It is time."


	35. Chapter 35

35.

"Scourge of the Unfeathered"

They launched the assault on Garlas Malatar, the Knights shouting bravely as they charged.

"Knights of the Nine! Umaril and his Aurorans must be destroyed!"

"For Dibella and Mara!"

"Remember Anvil! Remember Bravil!"

"The vengeance of the Nine upon these foul creatures!"

The Ayleid ruin was fairly overrun by Aurorans. But Torin was a field general extraordinaire, and his Knights were unexpectedly proficient with their weapons. And, of course, there was Alessia…beautiful, courageous Alessia… fiery, deadly Alessia. He had known what he could expect from her daggers and bow. And **he** did just what she had suggested – he used his wits and cunning and magic to defeat them. He changed his battle tactics to incorporate flanking maneuvers and team attacks, so that he could conserve his own strength for Umaril as much as possible, and he supplemented his own stamina with potions when he could, for what little good it did him. The Aurorans put up stiff resistance, but at last, his Knights sent the last of the Daedric minions back to their Oblivion realm and their mistress, Meridia. But Umaril remained. And he was for Torin to deal with, his Crusader armor cloaked about him, shield and sword of Pelinal before him. This time the outcome would be different, he swore.

"We did it! We really did it!" Torin heard a weak voice exclaim. He turned as he realized that voice had come from young Lathon, who lay on the floor gravely wounded. His other Knights still stood, but the young squire of Roderic had fallen.

Torin fell to his knees at the side of his youngest Knight and examined the wound. He realized it was too serious an injury for him to mend with his magic. Yet he thought the young man might live if they could get him out of there and to a physician, so he cast healing spells to bolster the lad for the journey. "You have fought bravely today, worthy Knight. We would have failed if you had not helped us. I thank you. Your Empress thanks you. Now we must get you to safety so your wounds may be treated. The Knights of the Nine still have need of you," he told Lathon.

The young Knight grinned proudly. "Thank you…milord, I…will return to duty as soon as…I am able," he promised bravely through his pain.

Torin smiled at him. "See to it then, lad," he replied. Then he stood and faced his Knights. "You have all distinguished yourselves here today, and I am proud to have served with you. We are at Umaril's doorstep now, thanks to you. But it is for **me** to finish him. And I **will** end it, armed with the gifts of the Nine. Areldur…Brellin…you get Lathon out of here. The rest of you stay here and guard against further Auroran attacks," he ordered. Then he turned to his wife, who he loved more than his own life. "Less, stay here with them. You **know** you cannot help me now. I am the only one who can defeat him. It is my destiny and…I would not see you hurt in the struggle," he said softly.

Alessia smiled and shook her head, as though gently chiding a child. "No, Torin, I will not stay behind. I cannot. I will be at your side no matter what comes. For better or for worse, my love," she said with quiet determination, reminding him of their wedding vows.

It was his turn to shake his head, smiling ruefully. "Why did I marry such a stubborn woman?" he moaned woefully.

Alessia smiled knowingly. "Because you love me impossibly and to distraction," she answered coyly.

Torin sighed, knowing she was right. "Come, my Empress, let us undo the Unfeathered. Let us send the monster back to Meridia and her Colored Rooms forever," he said, holding out his hand for her to take.

Alessia reached out and grasped his hand, and together they went into the chamber where Umaril waited.

As soon as they entered, they were beseiged by Aurorans.

"Knights!" Torin shouted.

His knights flew into the room downing three Aurorans immediately. But without warning, a bright white light enveloped the fallen enemy combatants and they arched backward, the life force that was lost miraculously was driven back into them.

"What manner of sorcery is this?" Thedret shouted, "We slay them and they are restored! How can we defeat them? Our valor is useless against this Daedric devilry!"

It was then Alessia noticed the great pulsing black orb in the center of the room. She looked at Torin. He had seen it, too. They both suspected it might be the cause of this strange phenomenon. And they had to stop it or they would quickly be overwhelmed. The Aurorans were protecting it fiercely, knowing it was their lifeline. Torin called for his Knights to create a diversion so that he could reach it. When at last he stood over the pulsating dark globe that emanated a supernatural aura, he put all his strength into one blow of the Crusader's Sword and shattered it. Instantly, the motion in the room slowed down to a crawl, before it finally stopped altogether. His Knights faded from sight…and his wife…his beloved Alessia, was gone as well. It was as though time itself stood still. Where the others had gone he could only guess, but in his heart, he did not believe them dead. And in his gut, he felt killing the sorceror king would bring them back somehow. He could but pray to the Nine it was so.

He was isolated…in time and space. It truly **was** his battle to fight. His and his alone. But he was not afraid…not of death, not of failure. **She** had seen to that in his moment of doubt. With a deep breath, Torin set aside his apprehension for the others and set about his task…killing Umaril.

He found a secret passage that led to a large room with a shallow pool at its center. The room lit up and a staircase rose from the ground. At the top, a golden warrior appeared, garbed in Auroran armor. But he was not like the others. He was a giant, vastly larger than any other Auroran he'd faced. This was Umaril's Throne Room. And Torin knew the dread Elf-King stood before him at last.

"Who dares enter Umaril's forbidden hall?!" the golden colossus demanded.

"Torin Grayrider. I have come at the Gods' bequest to end your miserable existence now and forever on this mortal plane," the Champion of Cyrodiil said grimly, his eyes narrowing.

The Meridian laughed. "You?! Alone?! You are no match for me, mortal! The great Crusader himself could not vanquish me. How is it you think you will fare better?" he mocked.

Torin's jaw set at Umaril's taunts and his eyes hardened. "Because the Gods will it, Pelinal himself has given me counsel, and my Empress believes in me," he retorted confidently.

The Unfeathered snorted. "Bah! I fear no Septim or her pawn! You are a fool! Pelinal was the Slave Queen's champion and he is dead…scattered to the winds while I live again! His guidance is of no consequence. Whitestrake is no more…and soon, too, you will be. As for the Divines…I shall rip them from their perch and trample them underfoot, grinding them to dust under my heel. Their days are numbered. But I grow weary of this. You have dared to encroach on my domain and you will know the consequences. Come mortal," Umaril gestured Torin to approach, his manner arrogant and sure of himself, "Taste my power!"

Torin took a deep breath and, buoyed by thoughts of his wife and potions of strength and endurance, he charged at the great Auroran. The battle was pitched. At first, he relied heavily on his elemental attacks, hurling fire and ice and electricity at his enemy. But Umaril was a great sorceror King and Torin's spells did little damage against his wards. The Champion gave up the idea of offensive magic and began to horde his mana for defensive purposes…to heal and prevent his already weakened stamina from depleting. In order to defeat Umaril, he quickly reverted to the tactics of his beloved Alessia to conserve his energies. Torin struck and retreated, giving ground to hit the Daedra where he was vulnerable, at the joints in his golden armor, then rolling away. It was an excruciatingly slow process, but it was working.

Umaril was enraged that his foe would not face him head on, that Torin used tricks and strategy to get in his blows. To frustrate him further, the Auroran could not target the constantly moving human with his magic spells. Over and over, the mortal avoided his balls of fire and bolts of lightning. Soon, the Elf-King's fury began to dictate his strategy, and he swung wildly at the Champion, great and powerful arcs with his weapon.

As Torin's endurance waned, it became more difficult to dodge the blows struck by the gargantuan Auroran. Time and again, he took some portion of the strike, knocking him to the ground. Torin's muscles screamed with fatigue, begging him not to get up…just to stay put, just for a few seconds…to recover. Exhaustion called to him, the sweet siren of certain death, alluring and nearly irresistible in her pleading for him to rest his weary body. But Torin knew that was all it would take…all Umaril needed to finish him. So, every time he fell, he managed to rise again and cast a spell to fortify himself, however fleeting the effect, thinking always of his Alessia…of her faith in him, of the consequences to her should he fail. Driven by his force of will, he fought on, beaten down, barely avoiding the killing blow time and again. He persevered, using his wits and cleverness. Finally, when he was not sure he could lift his sword even once more, the golden behemoth went down. Torin dare not waste an instant to heal himself now. **This** was the moment. He sensed grimly there would not be another if he failed, for he was spent. He reached deep within himself and with one mighty surge of adrenalin, Torin lifted the Crusader's Sword once more and lopped off the head of Umaril the Unfeathered.

As though this last effort had done him in, Torin fell to his knees, panting heavily, gasping for air. He gave himself only a few minutes to recover his breath, exhausting his mana on every manner of health spell to allow him to go on. He was desperate to see Alessia once more before he followed the Daedra into the breach, but did not dare take the time to seek her out. He had destroyed Umaril's physical form. If the Prophet had told him true, he must cast the Blessing of Talos on himself so he could follow the Daedra's spirit to a plane where he could be destroyed once and for all. He knew not what awaited him on the other side or if time was a factor. He knew only that he must follow and finish this, before Umaril could escape to the safety of his Daedric sponsor's realm. He felt it now. He was close…and he would not fail.

Torin forced himself to stand. There were no more potions. He was on his own now, with his curse-riddled body. He prayed to the Gods that it would be enough. Then he cast the Blessing of Talos. Suddenly, he found himself high in the sky above Imperial City…the place where he had met with Pelinal Whitestrake. Only this time he sensed it was no vision. And this time he was not disoriented by it. But as his mind grasped his location, he felt a powerful surge through his weakened body. His fatigue vanished, and was replaced with a strength and stamina he had not felt since he had taken on Kellen's affliction. He did not understand it…perhaps it was that in this plane he was not crippled…perhaps the Gods had deigned to heal him. He only knew he felt like his old self again…strong and fit for battle. A slow, knowing smile crept onto his face. Umaril would not survive beyond this day.

Umaril was astounded when he sensed Torin's abrupt presence, and whirled to face his enemy, unnerved. This mortal had defeated his Mundus form, just as Pelinal had. That was surprising enough. But now, he was here? Before Umaril could make his way back to Oblivion? He knew he was vulnerable here. "By what power do you follow me here…to this realm?! You…do not belong here! Begone!" the Elf-King blustered, fear seeping into his brain for the first time. He had thought himself safe, for even in physical death, he could escape to Oblivion, again and again, rising from the ashes over and over until victory was his. He had not expected that he could be followed. For if he was defeated **here**…but no, it was some sort of trickery of the Divines! An illusion…a shadow of an already pitiful mortal who had only defeated him by cowardly chicanery!

"The man who took so long to thwart you in mortal form is gone, Usurper! I am frail and pathetic no longer! The Gods have given me back what I was…I am whole again. I am **Champion** again! You will not find me such an easy target now. And **you** will taste the power of **my** blade at last!" Torin declared, almost victoriously.

"Bah! You speak as if you had already won!" Umaril barked dismissively.

Alessia's soft, faithful words echoed through his head, assuring him he would be successful, vowing she would always believe in him. A triumphant grin broke Torin's handsome face. Yes…he **had** already won. It was only a question of time. His tactics would be evasive no longer. Now it was **his** turn to be the savage aggressor. With a defiant roar, he charged at the startled Elf-King reborn, setting the golden-armored Meridian back on his heels.

Umaril raised his great sword to block Torin's suddenly relentless assault. He fell backwards, unexpectedly on the defensive for the first time in the battle. This was not possible. This puny mortal could not possibly overpower him. Even as he told himself that, Umaril the Unfeathered began to doubt. For the first time since his resurrection, his belief in the ultimate outcome wavered. It was his undoing. Torin seized on the hesitation, advancing on the uncertainty he read in Umaril's demeanor. He surged forward as his enemy fell back. Time and again, the loud metal clang of the Crusader's Sword striking the shimmering Auroran armor rang out for no one to hear.

Every blow he struck brought Torin closer to his wife's arms again, brought the people of Tamriel closer to freedom from tyranny, brought the Divines closer to safety from the monstrous hands that would tear them from their revered altars. He felt his opponent falter. And when the giant Unfeathered fell to one knee, battered and exhausted by Torin's withering attacks, the Champion of Cyrodiil moved in for the kill. He lunged at Umaril with all his might, the Crusader's Sword piercing the golden armor and the Daedric heart behind it. Umaril shrieked, a stunned look on his face as realization set in. Everything he had planned was gone, his final victory stolen from him by this mortal half his size! As the bitter light faded from his wicked eyes, the truth dawned on him. He had not just lost this battle…he was…dying…**permanently**, with no hope of resurrection. It was different from the last time and he knew it. Umaril the Unfeathered…invincible, unstoppable… was…no more. He heaved a great sigh as the life left his spirit form.

Torin stood, exultant at his victory, and though breathing heavily from his exertion, it was not as before. There was not the crushing weakness…the sense his lungs would collapse. He grinned. Suddenly, the sky parted and he was hurtling towards the ground. He was not transported back as he had expected. He was falling…to certain death. Noooo….not now…not when I have finally defeated him! Panic seized his heart. And he had but one thought…Alessia. Then, a shroud of blackness engulfed his brain and he could think no more.


	36. Chapter 36

36.

"'Til Death Do Us Part"

When Torin destroyed the strange black orb that seemed to be the cause of the Aurorans' revival, Alessia was stunned to see him suddenly vanish from her sight. She was so alarmed she almost didn't see the sword that whistled past her head. Instinct took over then, and she quickly rolled away and came up firing her bow rapidly at the head of her closing attacker, putting down the impudent Meridian who had dared tried to kill the Empress of Cyrodiil. There was no time to consider Torin's fate now, though she found her eyes scouring the area repeatedly as she fought, searching for the man she loved…a dangerous distraction that could easily get her killed, she knew, but she could not help it. He was not just her husband…her lover. He was the key to all of this…the key to ending Umaril and saving them all.

At last, with no orb to power their resurrection, the last of the Aurorans was finished. Carodus and Avita were nursing injuries, but nothing major, Alessia thought thankfully. Now, she searched in earnest for Torin, but he was not in the chamber. He had disappeared right in front of her, so where…? It was then that Avita shouted, "Here, Your Highness, a passage!" They charged ahead expecting to find more Aurorans or Umaril himself in their path. But when they reached Umaril's Throne Room there was only an ominous silence. They spread out, searching for some sign of their Knight-Commander. From across the room, Alessia heard shouts. "Here! Over here!" She ran, the strangest feeling of dread overtaking her with each step she took. "Kynareth, no…" she heard Avita moan. Alessia's heart went into her throat.

When she reached them, they were crowded around in a small circle. Geimund and Gukimir looked at her and lowered their eyes and their heads, unable to face her. They were filled with shame at what they could not prevent. Carodus and Thedret stepped back sadly, parting for her, so that she could see…so that she could grasp the situation…so that she could go to her husband. They had all seen the depth of feeling that was between their Knight-Commander and his Empress.

Alessia could read the grief on their faces but it did not register what might be the cause…that the unthinkable might have occurred. As if in slow motion, she stepped past them to witness the scene. She saw Umaril first, his lifeless body vivid proof that her faith in Torin had been justified. He had done it! She thought proudly. But where was he? Had he vanished to pursue Umaril in the spirit plane?

Avita was on her knees praying, tears running down her cheeks. She stood when she saw the Empress, revealing Torin's prostrate form. "I'm so sorry, Empress," she lamented softly, "I tried every potion I had."

Alessia stood there, scowling at her husband's body, shaking her head, shock setting in. "Torin?..." she asked weakly. Her mind could not comprehend it. "Nooo…" she whispered, "it…it isn't possible. He can't…" She fell to her knees and touched his face lightly. "Torin," she said softly, in full denial of his state, "You must get up now. I am here. We are **all** here, your brave Knights of the Nine. The Aurorans are finished, and so is Umaril. I feel it. You have done it, my love, you have saved us! Just as the Divines knew you would…just as **I** knew you would. But it is over now. You must rise. We must leave here. We still have our lives to live, and I…I cannot live mine without you…" she whispered, her voice breaking. The tears were coming unbidden now. Truth began to gnaw at the edge of her unreality even as she tried to convince herself that he was still alive…that he was in the spirit plane battling Umaril…that he would awaken safely at any moment. But it had been more than two hours since they had last seen him. His heart beat not within his chest. His lungs drew no breath. His eyes did not sparkle when they gazed at her. They no longer saw her at all. They saw nothing. They were empty…devoid of life, devoid of love. She had lost him…she had paid the most terrible price of all for their victory over the dread Elf-King. Torin was…gone.

Alessia cradled his head in her lap, caressing his face tenderly. She whispered how much she loved him, how proud she was of him, that he had triumphed over the impossible, and that all of Tamriel would sing his praises. He would be revered for all time as the hero that stopped Umaril, the man who took down Dagon. He had faced down the Prince Boethiah and overcome the worst that Oblivion had to throw at the mortal realm. A greater Champion has never lived, she murmured, wiping away the tears that blurred her vision of his handsome face. She knew he had never cared about such things, but it made her feel better to say them…to tell him the ways he would be honored.

The Knights made camp on the bluff outside Garlas Malatar, taking turns guarding their Empress as she mourned, making a litter to carry Torin's body. Day became night became day, her mind in a fog, always hoping in the depths of her soul that it was mistake…that somehow he would wake up…that the Gods had not asked him to do this only to see him destroyed by it once he had saved them. And so she held him, willing him back to her. She did not know how long she sat there with him, for time was immaterial to her now. The Knights could not make her eat or sleep. At last, when she was bleary with exhaustion and frail from hunger, she felt gentle hands lift her up. Alessia protested weakly, "No, I…I cannot leave him!"

"Your Highness, we are taking him **with** us…back to the Priory," Ser Thedret said.

* * *

Two days after he had slain the dread Umaril the Unfeathered, Torin was taken back to the Priory. The group made the journey in silence, none of them speaking, taking their cue from the numb, mechanical movements of their Empress. Each was lost in their own thoughts of mortality and bravery and admiration for their fallen commander, of their own loves won and lost.

Alessia was just lost. She felt nothing. Her grief and denial had given way to a detached and lethargic emptiness, a feeling of devastation unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

The others greeted them on their return, knowing they would **not** have returned if Umaril had been the victor. But their joy quickly turned to sorrow when they saw the litter and the somber appearance of the party…and the fact that their Knight-Commander rode not in the lead. It could only mean he was the one in the litter…and the face of their beloved Empress spoke volumes. Could he be…?

"Your Highness," Gukimir said gently, kneeling before her when they had dismounted. She looked down at him dazed. "My brother and I are Nords. It is tradition in our culture in Skyrim to send our greatest fallen warriors to their Gods with fire, to purify the body and show them the greatest respect. We would consider it a privilege to do so for the Champion," he said softly.

Alessia was moved, touched that they should be so devoted to their fallen leader. "I…am grateful you wish to pay homage to him. Torin…" she choked up emotionally. Even saying his name was difficult now. "He would be honored as well. But…I…cannot bear to…to think of him burning. Please…good and brave Gukimir, tell me you understand," she said pleadingly, not wanting to hurt his feelings.

The young Nord Knight nodded sadly. "Aye, I loved a woman once," he said, his gruff voice barely above a whisper.

It was enough. She could see he **did** understand.

They carried Torin to the undercroft and laid him reverently beside the original Knights as was his due. Dismissing the others, Alessia sat beside him for a time trying to say goodbye. It grieved her no end to think of leaving him…to think of never seeing him again, but she was Empress, and it was a luxury she could not afford, no matter how much she wished she could stay at his side forever as she had promised. She knew he would want her to go on, to be the best Empress she could be. He had believed in her as she had in him. And **this** was the place for him…he had given his life to defend the Nine, to spare Tamriel the horrors of Umaril. He belonged **here**, at this intimate Priory with those who had fought at his side to save the Empire.

She had no tears left. Her grief had given way to a cold, resigned acceptance to her fate…a life alone, without love. A life without life. She would do her duty to her Empire, but she would never be the same. She would shut down her feelings...burying them deeply beneath the surface so that she might put one foot in front of the other and function again as Empress of Cyrodiil. She owed it to her people…she owed it to **him** after his sacrifice, to lead them into prosperity. She would make him proud. Alessia sighed and stood, walking away with one last glance at that she had held most dear in this world, the man she had loved beyond compare, the Champion that had captured her soul.

"Should we keep his death secret?" she heard young Lathon ask the others as she ascended the stairs into the main room of the Priory. "What if our enemies should discover he is gone?"

"No," Alessia said firmly. All heads turned to her, bowing. "He deserves more than that. He deserves to be remembered. He has earned the recognition and the love of an Empire. His loss should be mourned by all who value honor and courage. He has given them their lives. We will not hide his death. He will inspire all of my people to better things. A man such as he…comes along but…once…" she found herself unable to continue for the great lump that had risen in her throat.

Lathon fell to his knees in front of her apologetically. "I'm sorry, milady, I meant no disrespect, I swear it! He was my hero…I only meant…" he fumbled pathetically.

Alessia forced herself to smile. "I know, Ser Lathon. I know how you **all** felt about him. And I am thankful that he was held in such high esteem. But know this. You have all proven yourselves worthy of him. He led you and you earned glory. You should not be afraid to face anyone. You stand for him now, and for the Nine. Honor them well and feel not fear," she said, addressing them all. "But...you will need a new Knight-Commander. Ser Thedret, you have survived much and borne your burden with great distinction and valor, never betraying that which was right. I believe it is for you to lead them," Alessia told him.

Thedret stepped forward, bringing his fist to his heart, his head bowed. "I am not worthy to replace the Champion, my Empress, but I will spend my life trying to be," he said softly, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable.

She nodded her appreciation. "I know my trust is well placed, Ser Knight," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

* * *

The Empress made ready to leave the next day. She had disciplined herself to eat, but sleep did not come as easily. It was fitful and restless as it had been since she had learned of his death. She said her goodbyes to the stalwart Knights of the Nine and bade them take good care of themselves and her precious husband. Then she started to mount her horse to return to Imperial City and stopped, glancing dolefully at Torin's great white stallion without its magnificent rider astride it. There was something in its eyes…a sadness? It seemed to know its master was gone. She threw her arms around the great beast's neck as if to impart her own grief and love for its owner. Then she mounted Torin's horse to make the journey back, leading her noble black mare behind her. Somehow, it made her feel less lonely to do so. Anything to make her feel less lonely.

She rode, willing herself not to think of **him,** but the responsibility that lay in front of her. Ocato was surely doing an adequate job keeping the Empire running, but she had once again to take up the mantle that was hers by birth, unwanted though it had been at the beginning. She would see to it that the Chapels in Anvil and Bravil were repaired and re-consecrated. There would be much to do, she was certain, and she silently thanked the Gods for that, for it would keep her busy enough to keep her thoughts from constantly going to her Champion. But then it occurred to her. The heir. She tried not to think of it. But in the back of her mind, she knew that one day she would have to give herself to another in loveless marriage to produce an heir to the Empire. And she could not prevent the tears from streaking down her face as she rode.


	37. Chapter 37

37.

"Matters of Life and Death"

Nearly five weeks had passed since those terrible events had transpired…since the Empress had lost her beloved husband. Five long, lonely weeks that seemed an eternity. Empty and desolate, mechanically moving through her role as leader of Cyrodiil, she plodded on as if in a trance…unfeeling, indifferent to her own fate. She had focused on the task in front, never thinking beyond if she could help it, never letting herself dream, trying to keep her thoughts away from him. The days were mercifully full, but the nights…when he should have been holding her…the nights were nearly impossible at times. Sleep fought her and dreams were her enemy, seemingly meant only to torture her with that which she could not have. Ever since she had thought him dead, her dreams had been the bane of her existence, good and bad. When her dreams of him were pleasant, she awoke to bitterly find they were **but** dreams, and it was doubly difficult to go on without him. And when they were not pleasant, she lost him over and over in the most imaginatively terrible ways. She had supposed that her guilt played a role in that…that she had survived and not been at his side for the final confrontation with Umaril. Many mornings she woke feeling as though she had not rested at all.

The light was gone from her eyes and from her life. She conducted her affairs of state with precision of memory, not the natural care and concern for her people that had marked her reign in times past. Alessia wondered if she could ever recapture the spark that had made her a good Empress. Perhaps one day, when she would be able to think of him without her heart being gripped by debilitating grief. Until then, she just had to keep going through the motions, to run the Empire as best she could. It did not help that she had felt so unwell these last days. Her personal physician was due in her chambers at any moment. Perhaps it was but a manifestation of her grief, yet her stomach was so unsettled at times, she had grown concerned for her ability to manage her duties so she had summoned him forthwith. She thought of Vaelor and shuddered involuntarily.

The physician finished his examination and listened to her explanation of her symptoms. He was a gentle, older man, kindly and caring, and had become friend to her since she had assumed the mantle of Empress. It had grieved him greatly to see her in such pain when she had returned from the battle with Umaril without her husband, the noble Champion of Cyrodiil. Now, his worried mask of concern erupted into a fatherly smile, his fear replaced with joy for his young Empress. Ah, but she needed some happy news.

Alessia scowled at him. What madness has taken hold of him? He looked as though he were about to dance a jig!

"My Empress! You carry not illness in your body, but a child! The Empire has an heir!" he exclaimed delightedly.

Alessia's jaw dropped in shock. It…had not occurred to her in her miserable state. But how was it possible? She and Torin had not been together for nearly seven weeks…not since he had taken on the terrible curse. But she had been with no one else. There was no tell-tale bulge yet to have given her warning, but certainly, it was possible! By the Gods, she was carrying Torin's child inside her! No wonder she had felt so ill, so irrational at times these last weeks. There was the grief, yes, but her body was playing havoc with her, too. She was with child…Torin's child. Oh, such bittersweet fortune! To have lost her beloved husband, and gained his child. To still have a piece of him in his son or daughter. Torin…oh Torin…why could you not be here for this moment? she thought as tears sprang to her eyes. The most profound feelings of joy and grief swept over her then, and they warred for supremacy for a few moments, until at last, she looked up and whispered through her tears, "Thank you, my good friend, for bringing me this wondrous piece of news. It will make all the difference in my life. For the Champion still lives…in me, in the offspring I will bear that is his. His child will grow up strong and courageous as **he** was and will know of the man, Torin Grayrider, and be proud to call him father. It will be alright now, you will see," she said softly, her hand subconsciously placed on her abdomen, her mind a thousand miles away. For the first time in weeks, she allowed a smile to break on her beautiful face.

The old physician squeezed her shoulder gently and left her to her thoughts.

* * *

There was a dense fog. That was the first thing he remembered, and a gentle, soothing ethereal voice that pierced it…calling him back. Back…back to the living, back to **her**. He struggled to return, for that was all he wanted…to see her again, to hold her again. His beloved Alessia. His Empress. His wife. His life.

But it was not **her** voice calling for him to arise. It was someone else familiar…Dibella! Yes, praise the Nine! The Goddess of Love was speaking to him now. That could only mean he had succeeded in his quest!

"You must awaken, Champion," she said softly. "Your time in this place is done, though time itself means nothing here."

Torin heard her in his grogginess, but he could not see through the fog, nor could he yet move. "Where…where am I?" he stammered, disoriented. He lay on a hard slab, but could tell nothing else.

"You are in the space between…the place between places. You followed Umaril here when he fled his form to escape to Oblivion, and you caught him here before he could reach his sanctuary," the Goddess replied. "You have defeated Umaril," Dibella continued, "He is gone forever. Victory is yours and the Nine are grateful."

Torin breathed a sigh of relief. "I…remember…vaguely. But...seems...so long ago…" he managed, his mind as much in a fog as the air around him.

"It is this place. You will return to clarity when you have left it. Thus is it meant to be here, for it is the plane between life and death…between knowing and not knowing…between thought and the void that comes before the life beyond. Fear not, Champion of Cyrodiil. We will return you to life," she said easily, as though it were but a simple thing.

Torin was stunned. "You mean…I…am dead?" he asked in disbelief.

"Not in the final sense…not in the sense you understand it. But when you cast the Blessing of Talos to pursue the Elf-King, you left your body behind as he did. In the mortal interpretation, you are dead. Your spirit no longer resides in your body. Yet, it is still within our power to return you to the mortal plane, for here you have been since defeating Umaril. You have not passed on to Aetherius," Dibella explained.

Dead. They must think him dead. No…Alessia. Yet, surely he had not been unconscious that long. "I…must go back…please. I…how long…how long have I been here?" Torin couldn't resist asking.

"Time holds no meaning here. You slew Umaril but a moment ago, yet weeks ago. It is of no import here…all takes place in the blink of an eye," she answered.

Weeks!? By the Nine, he had to roust himself! He threw all his concentration, all his energy and focus into willing his body to move. He could hear himself groan with his effort and knew it was not happening here in this plane, but in his physical body. That gave him encouragement.

"We have lifted the curse that plagued you. The Blessing of Talos has taken back that which you selflessly assumed in order to aid us. Your sacrifice is noted and your affliction is no more. The tumult of Oblivion has calmed, and the Daedra are quieted at last…humbled by an earthly Champion. Three Princes know your name, and the rest whisper it in astonishment. You have earned the grudging respect of the Lords of Oblivion, and for a time at least, they will consider what they have learned. But it is for you to return to your world and find your place in it once again," the Goddess continued, "Awaken."

Torin could not yet open his eyes, but he heard his lips struggle to utter the one word that overshadowed all else, "Alessia…"

"Your wife and Empress is well in body, but weak in spirit. She is torn between obligation and grief, unable to bury herself in mourning as she wishes, unable to fully discharge her duty. She is but a shadow of herself. Make her whole again, so that she can rule her Empire effectively and compassionately as she once did…as she must do again," Dibella commanded.

"I will…and…thank you," Torin said aloud, feeling the strength flow back into his body, consciousness and control returning to him as he regained control of his mortal form.

"It is **We** who owe **you** thanks, mortal. Be well and honor the Divines in all things," she said, her voice trailing away as the fog lifted completely and he realized he could see again. Torin tried to sit up but recognized he was interred in a wall crypt.

"Crusader... arise... stand and face the light," Ser Amiel said, "We would speak with you."

The sound of Amiel's voice told Torin he was in the Priory undercroft.

"Breathe again and receive your reward. You have completed your divine task. You have defeated the enemy of the Nine and restored the Order. The Knights shall serve as the sword and the shield of the Nine in the dark times to come. We owe you a debt of thanks. You have succeeded where we could not. You have held true to your purpose. At long last, our purgatory is at an end. We go to the glory of the Nine, to serve in their host in the life beyond this one," Amiel said.

Torin was surprised when Ser Berich stepped forward. It seemed he had rejoined his fellows after all. "You redeemed my soul from the evil that had ensnared me. For that I am forever in your debt. The old bitterness that seemed so important to me in life - what is that now? How to weigh that against my very soul?" he asked, as if perplexed by his own behavior, wondering how he could ever have acted so. "The evil took hold of me the day that I slew Ser Caius on the Priory steps. I baited him, knowing his temper, and then I killed him when he drew against me. I killed him in cold blood, with the holy Sword itself! I took the Crusader's Sword down with me into evil. I could have disarmed him or wounded him. But a cold pride had taken hold of me, and so I slew him, and went to war, and never returned. The evil grew upon me until I became cruel…a tyrannical ruler…a terror upon the land. In death, evil held me even tighter than in life. Thanks to you, that all is behind me. You have redeemed us both. The Gods are truly merciful. Ser Caius and I will go to Aetherius side by side, as of old. Walk with the Nine, noble Knight and know you have my eternal gratitude," Berich finished.

"You put right the evil that I began through my own weakness. Ser Berich is once again part of our fellowship, and shall be forevermore," Ser Caius said, "I add my hearty thanks to those already expressed, Champion."

"While you may have performed greater deeds, none have meant more to me than your redemption of my friend Berich. Now, we will all finish our long-delayed journey to Aetherius, and Ser Berich will be among us, as of old. May your sword serve the Nine all the days of your life, Crusader. Thank you again and fare well," Amiel said.

The spirits of the original Knights of the Nine raised their weapons in salute. "Hail!" they shouted in unison. And one by one, they vanished into the afterlife, peace finding them at last.

Torin paused for a moment to pay his respects and then, anxious to return to Alessia, started up the stairs when he was met by a breathless, wide-eyed Ser Thedret. "Lord **Crusader**!" he whispered in awe, "You...you're alive! It's a miracle! I heard voices in the undercroft and I came to investigate...but...how can this be? You vanished in Garlas Malatar. After the battle, we searched further into the ruin and found you next to Umaril's corpse. You had no mortal wounds on your body, but you were dead, I swear it! I saw it with my own eyes! We all did - you did not draw breath! We laid you to rest in the undercroft, and..." Thedret stopped in horror. "By the Nine, the Empress thinks you dead, too!" the new Knight-Commander exclaimed.

"I know, Thedret, it's going to be alright. I am going to go to her now," Torin said calmly.

Thedret still looked thunderstruck. "But how…?" he asked in a daze.

Torin but smiled. "The wonders of the Nine are many," he replied mysteriously.

Ser Thedret nodded, accepting while not understanding. "Indeed they are..." he said in amazement. Then he recaptured his voice and asked the question they had all been asking themselves these many days since they had returned to the Priory. "We knew you had succeeded in destroying Umaril's physical form, but it seemed that you had met the same fate as Pelinal Whitestrake. The Empress was certain of your success, but tell me...**was** Umaril finally destroyed? We are all dying to know if we truly were triumphant," Thedret asked.

Torin nodded with a small grin. "The Knights of the Nine have won the day. I have severed his very soul. It is over, truly," he replied.

Thedret became very excited, his voice rising to a fever pitch, "Then he is annihilated! We've won - and you're **alive**! I have to tell the others!" And he raced up the stairs and out the door to the courtyard where the others were sparring.

Torin followed, unable to keep his mind from wondering what he would say to his wife…how he would break the news to her.

"Knights of the Nine, hear me!" Ser Thedret charged outside shouting. They all stopped and turned to give their Knight-Commander their attention. "Today we have witnessed undeniable proof of the strength and the might of the Gods we serve! Slain in battle with the dread Umaril, by the grace and mercy of the Nine, the Crusader lives again!"

A collective gasp escaped the practicing Knights as Torin appeared and they launched a volley of confused questions simultaneously at Thedret. He raised his hands to silence the maelstrom.

"How can this be, you ask? By the will of the Gods! What of our foe? What has become of Umaril The Unfeathered? Umaril has been slain by the Crusader! His very spirit cast into the void and destroyed for all eternity - never to rise again. Let us give thanks to the Nine! By their power, the Crusader has rid the world of Umaril forever! Hail the Lord Crusader!" Thedret shouted, plunging his fist high into the air.

The astonished but ecstatic Knights raised their sparring weapons in homage to their Champion reborn, shouting, "Hail! Hail the Lord Crusader! Hail the glory of the Nine! Through Arkay, the Crusader lives! By the might of Talos, the Crusader is arisen! By the power of Akatosh!" each man praising the glory of his own patron and the Nine together.

Gukimir slapped him on the back with a loud and hearty laugh. "Thank the Divines we did not burn you, eh? The Empress is as wise as she is beautiful!" he exclaimed in good cheer.

Torin looked at him strangely, not understanding, but somehow thinking it better not to ask. They all crowded around him to hear more and congratulate him. As much as Torin appreciated their well-wishes, he could think only of Alessia. "I am sorry my friends, but I must go. My wife must hear the truth from **me**. I beg you to say nothing until I have had a chance to speak with her. I do not wish her to discover I am alive by vicious rumor," Torin explained. "Know that I hold all of you in highest regard. You are brave knights one and all, and I am proud to have served with you. You have honored the Nine and saved Tamriel. None can take that from you. But my place is at my Empress' side, and so I leave you now to perform the great deeds I know await you. Fare thee well, Knights of the Nine," Torin finished.

They all nodded their understanding.

"But," Thedret started, "**You** are the true Knight-Commander, Lord Crusader. The Empress appointed me in your place only because we thought…" he stopped.

Torin put his hand on the man's shoulder. "It is for you now, Thedret. I concur with the Empress' judgment. I am sure you make a fine commander. Guide them well," he said. Then he turned to address the Knights who had served him so faithfully. "I will be with you all in spirit, but my heart is in Imperial City. I must return to my wife," the Champion said.

After saying his goodbyes, Torin searched for his horse, anxious to be on his way, and realized it was gone. Thedret looked at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, milord, the Empress…she took your great white stallion back with her. In fact, rode him back herself, if I remember. Refused an escort, insisted on going alone. We were, quite frankly, relieved to hear she made it back safely," Ser Thedret said.

Torin nodded, knowing it was exactly what she would do. She would want to be alone, to gather her thoughts, to deal with what had happened to him, to prepare herself to be Empress again in light of the heartbreaking circumstances. By the Nine, he could not wait to see her! He **needed** to see her…to eradicate her pain….to restore her as Dibella had asked of him. His own heart was breaking to think of her suffering. "I need to borrow a horse, the fastest one I can get. I will see it returned with more for your stable…"

"No need, Champion, the Empress sees that we have all we need now…supplies, arms, food and horses. Take whatever you want to see you safely back to the Empress," Thedret said.

Lathon had overheard Torin's call for a steed. "Take mine!" he said, beaming, happy to be able to help his hero. "Truly, it is the fastest horse in all the Empire! It was Ser Roderic's!"

Torin smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, happy to see he had recovered from his serious injuries. "Thank you, lad! I am grateful for your assistance and well-pleased to see you on your feet again. I will see he is returned to you, that's a promise!"

"Hail, Crusader! Gods' speed!" they all shouted as he waved farewell and galloped off at breakneck speed for Imperial City.


	38. Chapter 38

38.

"Moving Heaven and Earth"

Alessia regained some of her pluck after finding out she was with child, knowing that she still had a part of him with her. Gods, the plans they had made…for children, for what they would do, the places they would take them. She still intended to honor the dreams they shared for their sons and daughters. But for now, her only goal was to take care of herself…to see to it nothing interfered with her pregnancy. She knew many women of the age had difficulties carrying a baby in the early months. Fiercely maternal now, she would do whatever it took to protect the welfare of this baby. She would **have** this child and she would do anything to protect it.

Now, she sat in the Great Hall listening to the daily reports from the Elder Council. Thank the Nine she no longer felt sick all the time. She found her mind wandering as it did sometimes to her unborn child. She smiled and surreptitiously touched her abdomen as if to say hello to the baby. Suddenly, her reverie was interrupted.

"Your Highness! Empress!" a breathless man shouted, rushing into the chamber. "Forgive me…but…it is **he**! He **returns**! He is **back**! The Ch..." his words were cut off as the doors behind him were flung open.

Then she saw him. Alessia leapt up from her throne. Her heart fairly stopped dead in her breast before it began to thud wildly. He strode in forcefully, pushing past astonished faces that could only gawk in amazement, heading straight for her. His eyes did not stray from her face as he purposefully made his way towards the seat of Imperial power and the woman who claimed it.

The Empress stood rooted to the ground, trembling violently, mesmerized by the mirage approaching her with such determination, too shocked to move or speak.

"Alessia…" he said softly when he neared, his eyes shining with love and joy at the sight of her. But instead of falling into his arms as he expected, she bristled, her spine stiffening.

Had she been a mild-mannered woman, she might have fainted at this most stunning of developments. But she was not. Alessia was a Septim, strong of will and stubborn of heart. And this…this was not possible. She took a deep breath, recovering herself and shaking her head in disbelief. No…it was not Torin. It was a horrible trick, surely. She had been there. She had witnessed his lifeless body. In spite of what her eyes told her, this was a lie. It had been weeks since she had laid him to rest, and only now was she coming to grips with his loss. She could not bear to be dragged down like that again. She could not stand the bitter disappointment if he should prove false. And surely he **would** prove false…her beloved Torin was dead. No. She would not believe…and she would see this malicious monster paid for his heartless deed. "Who are you, cruel stranger?! What manner of foul sorcery is this that you to come to me with **his** appearance?" Alessia cried, her voice shaking with indignant anger. Then her voice broke as she struggled with the pain all over again…as she tried to find reason in so merciless a hoax, "Do not come to me with **his** face…**his** voice. He lies in state at the Priory of the Nine Divines. He is **perished**…vanished from my life forever. What purpose could it serve to torment me so?" she lamented, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"I will end the vile perpetrator, my Empress," a Blade said, moving toward Torin menacingly.

"No," she ordered, waving her young defender off, "If he does not produce an explanation quickly, I will kill him myself for dishonoring Torin's memory so...for daring to approach me in such guise," Alessia said, her teeth clenched in fury, her reason fled in the face of this outrage. She drew a dagger and stepped to him, her hand trembling.

When she was nearly upon him, Torin whipped out his own knife so quickly that none could react. All in the room gasped, thinking he meant to harm her. But he flipped the dagger hilt towards her, offering it to her with a tip of his head. "Don't you usually use two?" he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of this mouth.

Alessia blinked, startled. So he would not defend himself? And he knew she wielded two daggers when she fought. She struggled for words.

Torin could see her consternation, feel her agony. He tried to reach out to her. "My Empress, I…have been in a different time and space. I do not grasp it fully, but I could not come to you before now. I have only just now regained consciousness, and came to you as soon as I could. It is…complicated, what I understand of it. But I ask that you give me a chance to explain, Less," Torin pleaded sincerely.

Again, Alessia was taken aback. His familiarity...but wait! This imposter had made a fatal mistake. The man standing before her was not afflicted, as her husband had been by his selfless act of rescuing another. He was vibrant perfection…the image of the man she once knew. "You are strong and healthy, but my Torin was consumed by a curse. You have no rings beneath your eyes, there is no struggle in your step. You would know this if you were truly him," she said skeptically, casting a wary glance at him. She thought she had trapped him, but he only smiled brilliantly at her…the smile she loved so well.

"But that is what I wanted to tell you…I am cured! The curse is lifted! Dibella herself assured me it was so in a vision before I regained awareness. When I cast the Blessing of Talos on myself to follow Umaril, my strength was restored to me," Torin said happily. "We can be together again, my love!" he exclaimed taking a step towards her.

But Alessia recoiled fearfully, unwilling to believe…to trust again...the risk too great. She could not take losing him a second time. And she could not take a chance with her unborn child's welfare.

Torin's face fell in disappointment, but he understood. As far as she was concerned, he had been dead for nearly two months. The improbability…nay, the **impossibility** of his return made it impossible for her to accept. She was only protecting herself, shielding her emotions as he would have done. But then, much had happened to them that he would have deemed impossible in his younger days. He would **make** her believe.

Alessia could hardly take it all in. He seemed to have an answer for everything. But her heart was guarded. She had to be certain. "But…I **saw** him…he was…dead," she insisted, less sure of herself this time. She found herself praying she was wrong...that somehow…perhaps…the Gods had answered her prayers after all.

"Did I not tell you I would never leave you behind…that I would always come back for you?" he asked softly.

Alessia swallowed hard.

"There are a thousand things I could tell you now that only you and I know. Yet I know also there are a thousand ways you could dismiss them in your current state…a thousand ways you would find not to heed my claims. And I understand. After all you must have been through, I understand. But…Less…if you cannot believe my words…" he said, stepping toward her suddenly, grabbing her wrists swiftly and pinning them behind her to protect himself from her weapons. He pulled her close.

A vivid memory of another time he had disarmed her so easily flashed through her mind.

"Maybe you will believe this," he whispered. He kissed her passionately.

She struggled at first, in surprise, in denial. Then she stopped…and she found herself unwillingly responding as though her body recognized him even if **she** could not. Was it possible? She wavered.

When he felt her quit fighting him, he released her wrists and his hands went to her waist familiarly.

Alessia gasped and pulled away, overwrought. "But…how can you be here? I saw…" she started uncertainly.

"Our lives together are not yet fully writ, Alessia. I am here because the Nine are merciful, indeed…to you, **and** to me. I am here because I promised I would never let you go again…because I vowed to be at your side, even if it meant moving heaven and earth to do so. You think it not humanly possible I stand here before you. But I am here because the Gods themselves took pity on my hapless soul and made it possible," he said softly, a gentle smile spreading over his face.

She knew then. In her heart, she knew. Alessia dropped the daggers in her hands with a sob and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, gripping him tightly. "My Grayrider…" she murmured rapturously, the tears of joy rolling freely down her face.

His strong arms slid about her still slender waist and he clutched her in return. They held each other, oblivious to the cheers that rose up around them when the onlookers realized their Empress had recognized the man as her husband, as their hero. The Empress and her Champion embraced emotionally, indifferent to the mass exodus of the throne room as people scurried out to give them privacy and spread the joyous news. The Champion of Cyrodiil lived!

They stood there a long time, Alessia hardly able to believe she was in his arms again and Torin murmuring soft, soothing affirmations of love in her ear as he stroked her silken hair. "Sssh…it's alright, my darling, I'm here. It's over. I'll never leave your side again, I swear it!" he vowed, "I love you, I love you so…don't cry…don't cry…"

But she could not help it. Relief and tension and hormones and joy conspired together to keep her tears flowing. She laughed at last through them. "Oh Gods, I can't stop crying. I've become such a pathetically weepy creature since…" she stopped, and her face grew serious with remembered pain.

Torin grimaced at the anguish he saw in her features as she recalled her grief thinking he was dead. "I'm so sorry, Less," he said. "If I could take away your hurt…" he said compassionately.

She was able to smile a little then. "But you have, my love. You have come back to me," she said, her eyes shining. Alessia's fingers entwined themselves in his thick hair and she clutched him to her almost desperately. "If this is not real, let me live the rest of my days in fantasy. If it is but a dream, never let me awaken. If you are not who you pretend, never tell me," she whispered earnestly.

"Alessia…I am really here…" he murmured in reply.

Everything thing about him was the same. She knew every muscular inch of his body…every scar, every dimple, every rippling sinew. His mannerisms, his speech, his smile, the way he touched her…it was all as she remembered it. Surely it must be true. Had she not see the Gods perform miracles before? Had she not **been** one of them…her own life given back to her? She gazed at him a moment then touched his face gently, running her finger along that beloved scar on his jaw. Then she nodded, studying his face as though she never wanted to forget it. "Tell me everything…so that I may understand with my mind and not just with my soul," she said at last.

And he did, explaining all that had happened to him since he had last seen her at his side as he broke the orb.

Alessia shook her head in wonder. It was all so fantastical. As if she suddenly remembered what he had told her, her eyes grew wide, and she blurted out, "The curse is gone? You are well again?"

He smiled tenderly. "I am healed. I know no fatigue past that of a normal man and our children will not know their father's affliction," he promised.

Her radiant smile took his breath away as it always had…from the first moment he laid eyes on her at the orphanage when she had taken off her helm and her gorgeous black tresses had fallen casually about her perfectly sculpted face, framing those mesmerizing green eyes. He had thought then he was looking at a Goddess. He smiled to himself realizing he thought that now, too. But…there was something about her at this moment…he couldn't define it…a glow…was it possible she was even more beautiful now than when he had last seen her? "But what of you? I know it must have been terrible for you…" Torin said tenderly.

She looked at him, a flash of pain crossing her face as she remembered. "It…was. No…I do not wish to speak of it. It is over and you are here, and I never have to think on it again," she said, trying to banish the dark cloud that had descended on her. But then, her face brightened as she remembered the one glorious thing that had happened while he was away.

The drastic change in her demeanor puzzled Torin. "What?" he asked, smiling in confusion.

She gazed at him with such love in her eyes. They shone brightly with tears of joy. "There was one thing…one wondrous and marvelous thing….that saved me in my darkest hour when I was sure there was nothing that could. I found out…he told me…Torin…I am with child! In but seven months, you are to be a father, my love!" she burst out excitedly.

Torin's face registered complete shock. How was it possible? Seven months. They told him he had been gone almost five weeks. It must have been one of their last nights together, before the curse struck him down, and he had cut himself off from her. By the Nine! A baby! **His** baby! With Alessia! After everything that had happened, he had doubted it could ever be! But the Gods' mystery would never be known to him…and they had rewarded his and Alessia's faithfulness with a child! Torin recovered himself, and grinned like an idiot reaching out to touch her belly. "Our child…" he murmured in wonder.

She smiled at his boyish reaction and placed her hand over his as he caressed her abdomen. "The child does not move much yet, but the physician assures me all is well. I have done all that I could to care for him, to see that he is healthy," she promised him.

Torin looked up at her, his own eyes welling, raw emotion blocking his throat so that he could barely speak. "Less…I…" he managed weakly.

"I know," she whispered emotionally, taking his face in her hands and drawing his head to hers, nuzzling him. "I feared it would never happen, too. But the Gods have shown us grace. They have allowed your child to take hold in my womb, and they have given you back to me. I am whole again, my love, I am restored," she murmured in complete and utter happiness.

Her choice of words stunned him. It was exactly what Dibella had told him he must do for her. Then he smiled in realization. He had returned to her…he had made her believe. And it was all she had needed. He kissed Alessia tenderly, his hand touching her stomach lightly. Then he gazed at her meaningfully, "If it is a boy, we'll call him Martin," Torin said softly.

Alessia's lips parted in surprise and she half-sobbed. Then she nodded, "I'd like that. I think…my brother would like that."

Torin took his wife and his unborn child in his arms gently. "Everything will be alright now, my Empress, my wife. I will let it be no other way. You will see, Less…" Torin said with conviction, clutching her to him.

Alessia smiled at his choice of words, remembering her own spoken to her physician when she had discovered she was with child. "Yes, my love," she answered, a contented sigh escaping her lips, "Everything **will** be alright."

THE END

_Author's note: Hope you found the tale entertaining! _


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